Lyrics Sunday Morning, at a Funeral - La Dispute
Sunday
Morning
still
Laid
innocent
in
sheets,
Barely
half
asleep.
Sunday
Morning
I
was
dreaming
I
was
turning
from
a
busy
street
Into
a
parking
lot.
Sunday
Morning
broke
And
dragged
me
out
of
bed,
Slightly
less
asleep.
Sunday
Morning
I
was
warming
all
the
cold
parts
of
my
head
In
cups
and
coffee
pots.
In
the
Winter
I
wonder
What
it′s
like
to
be
anywhere
else,
To
be
anywhere
but
here.
If
I
leave
and
don't
return
I
hope
the
factories
get
full
Of
people
making
furniture,
with
The
river
running
clear.
Sunday
Morning
fell
Apart
and
back
to
sleep,
Where
I
was
running
late,
Where
I
looked
out
of
place.
Sunday
Morning
pace
of
steady,
nervous
feet
Headed
for
the
church
doors.
Sunday
Morning
dressed
In
suits
and
shades
of
black.
Sunday
Morning
soft
in
Sunday
best.
Sunday
someone′s
never
coming
back
here
To
this
place
anymore.
In
the
Winter
I
wonder
What
it's
like
to
be
anywhere
else,
To
be
anywhere
but
here.
If
I
leave
and
don't
return
I
hope
the
factories
get
full
Of
people
making
furniture,
with
The
river
running
clear.
Sunday
Morning
stared
At
rows
of
crowded
pews.
Half
or
all
asleep,
Looking
for
a
seat.
Sunday
Morning
waiting
for
a
call
from
you
But
didn′t
hear
my
phone
ring.
Sunday
Morning
had
To
sit
and
watch
you
bawl.
Sunday
Morning
left
the
ringer
off.
Sunday
Morning
missed
it
when
you
called
and
Couldn′t
do
a
thing
But
watch.
In
the
Winter
I
wonder
what
it's
like
to
be
where
you
are.
In
the
Winter
I
wonder
what
it′d
be
like
if
you
were
still
here.
Would
the
factories
fill?
Would
the
river
run
clear?
Would
the
river
run?
Sunday
Morning
dreamt
About
a
moment
passed,
About
a
time
I
failed.
Sunday
Morning
I
was
staring
at
a
clock,
trying
to
push
it
back.
Sunday
Morning
wished
to
be
a
kid.
Sunday
Morning
sme
all
the
way
awake.
Stirred
me
from
the
dream.
Sunday
Morning
I
was
thinking
of
a
phone
call
I
should
make
But
never
did.
I
never
did.
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