Sunday Father

By Barry Manilow

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Hand in his hands through the park All afternoon A fine day to fly balloons or tell him a story Hand in his hand to wonder Till day is done Sunday father and son Sundays are theirs to explore Alone by law One day to keep the two from turning to strangers, One to know the answers Be firm, be fun Sunday father and son The father weaves through the weekend streets Sunday alone, Monday comin´on He leaves the child by a modest home That they share no more With the woman who waits indoors Till she knows he's gone Where are the words or the games A place to go Someway to let him know you want to be with him Somehow it's always ending Just half begun Sunday father and son Sunday father and son

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