The Gloomiest of Sundays

vintage jazz blues, torch song, smoky lounge, soul

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V5.5

Morning hangs heavy on these tired old walls, Coffee’s gone cold before the first phone calls. Another red notice slipped under my door, Another week’s labor still leaves me poor.
My father’s eyes ask what my mouth can’t say, My mother still prays I’ll find my way. My woman smiles only when she’s asleep, The silence between us has grown so deep.
Every promise I planted withered away… Like flowers that never discovered May.
(Pre-Chorus)
I’ve counted blessings… I’ve counted debts… Funny how the second list keeps growing yet.
(Chorus)
These are the gloomiest of Sundays, Where Monday wears the very same face. The clock keeps turning, But I stand still, Running forever… Never leaving this place.
Lord, if tomorrow is mercy, Why does today feel like goodbye? I keep breathing… But somewhere inside, A piece of me quietly died.
(Verse Two)
They tell me harder work opens every gate, But mine stay locked by a different fate. A color, a name, A neighborhood street… Sometimes before I speak, I’ve already faced defeat.
The paycheck disappears before it arrives. Dreams don’t survive where survival survives. Another gray morning… Another long climb… The years steal my strength One bill at a time.
(Bridge)
Still…
Little hands reach for mine every night. A tiny voice still call me “Daddy.”
For one little moment, The world becomes lighter.
I’d walk through every storm… Carry every mountain… Trade every dream I buried… Just to keep hers alive.
One day…
Maybe a little piece of earth… A porch… My own space… Children laughing in the distance.
Somewhere no one can tell us What we’re worth.
(Final Chorus)
These are the gloomiest of Sundays… Where hope wears old and weathered clothes. The world keeps judging… Life keeps taking… Still somehow, Love keeps growing.
If I’m cursed, Then let the curse stop here.
May my children never inherit The weight that bent my shoulders.
And if tomorrow finally finds me… Tell it I’ve been waiting Every Sunday… All my life.
(Outro)
The sun still rises.
Maybe…
One morning…
It will rise…
For me.

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Morning hangs heavy on these tired old walls, Coffee’s gone cold before the first phone calls. Another red notice slipped under my door, Another week’s labor still leaves me poor. My father’s eyes ask what my mouth can’t say, My mother still prays I’ll find my way. My woman smiles only when she’s asleep, The silence between us has grown so deep. Every promise I planted withered away… Like flowers that never discovered May. (Pre-Chorus) I’ve counted blessings… I’ve counted debts… Funny how the second list keeps growing yet. (Chorus) These are the gloomiest of Sundays, Where Monday wears the very same face. The clock keeps turning, But I stand still, Running forever… Never leaving this place. Lord, if tomorrow is mercy, Why does today feel like goodbye? I keep breathing… But somewhere inside, A piece of me quietly died. (Verse Two) They tell me harder work opens every gate, But mine stay locked by a different fate. A color, a name, A neighborhood street… Sometimes before I speak, I’ve already faced defeat. The paycheck disappears before it arrives. Dreams don’t survive where survival survives. Another gray morning… Another long climb… The years steal my strength One bill at a time. (Bridge) Still… Little hands reach for mine every night. A tiny voice still call me “Daddy.” For one little moment, The world becomes lighter. I’d walk through every storm… Carry every mountain… Trade every dream I buried… Just to keep hers alive. One day… Maybe a little piece of earth… A porch… My own space… Children laughing in the distance. Somewhere no one can tell us What we’re worth. (Final Chorus) These are the gloomiest of Sundays… Where hope wears old and weathered clothes. The world keeps judging… Life keeps taking… Still somehow, Love keeps growing. If I’m cursed, Then let the curse stop here. May my children never inherit The weight that bent my shoulders. And if tomorrow finally finds me… Tell it I’ve been waiting Every Sunday… All my life. (Outro) The sun still rises. Maybe… One morning… It will rise… For me.

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