[Minimalistic trip-hop / downtempo. Male baritone, heartfelt, understated delivery. Mostly sung, half-spoken. Bowed cello, piano, softly epic. Plenty of natural pauses. Near-silence before the final line. Cello and piano fade.] [Verse 1 — sparse] A house finch on the rim of an old upturned hubcap, welded onto scrap. He drinks, dips, gives a shake, and off he goes, all wings and wet. [Verse 2] A breeze comes through, stirs the linden leaves. Most are still green, some yellow in between, some already on the ground. [Verse 3] A hummingbird blurs into view, sips a little nectar, slips out of sight— then much later, another. Or maybe it’s the same one. [Chorus — warm, restrained] Sunday afternoon. We’ve lasted this long. A mere instant as eternities go. [Verse 4 — half-spoken] I’m listening to old songs while I’m writing this one down. The afternoon advances, the sun hangs lower now. You say, There’s nothing to do. I keep tapping on the keys. [Verse 5 — intimate, playful] Sometimes you look at me as if wondering, who are you? Then—oh, that is you. That is you. [Chorus — warm, restrained] Sunday afternoon. We’ve lasted this long. A mere instant as eternities go. [Verse 6 — build gently] A big black crow drops in, takes a bath up to his chin, splashes most of the water out— silver in the air. Then hardly any water there. [Bridge — sparse, conversational] I don’t know where we’re going with this. Somewhere we don’t know till we get there. There goes the crow. You say, I wanna go home, where people love me and take care of me. [Outro — gradually thinning] Sunday afternoon. The sun is lower now, coming in sideways. A bird comes. A bird goes. We come, And we go. You’re sitting beside me. The old songs keep playing, my fingers keep tapping. Where we’re going, I’ve no idea. But I know it’ll be great fun. [Near-silence] You say, Boogie, are you all right? [Bowed cello and soft piano fade.] ———————— Lyrics © Mario Caoile
