Each Sunday morning's the same as the one before
That's something that means more and more
To me, as the years turn into rituals
To me - I like the peace, the peace that at home can bring
The grey skies of London could tell a tale or two
And maybe some are true
While some are fables from forgotten times
While some - are dreams snatched from thin air
What are these stories?
But travellers tales
While the household lies sleeping
I'll set my sails
Tales of adventure
Fortune and fame
Heartache and romance
Of pride and of shame
Time waits for no man, no man can turn back time
I'm guilty of the crime of trying
To hold onto days so long gone now
To hold - onto love that has now flown
Each Sunday morning's the same as the one before
