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Passenger
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Month Of Sundays (feat. Brian Campeau & Elana Stone)
Well I've been living in this month of Sundays
For so long I don't remember Saturday night.
Broken records don't play new tunes, except for once in a blue moon
And I've looked but the moon is still white.
And I've pinned some hope to the summit of someday
Someone somewhere may do something with this light.
A smoker's lungs don't blow balloons, except for once in a blue moon
And I've looked but the moon is still white.
Rusty guns fire rusty shots, leopards never change their spots
And fireworks always fade too soon.
Empty words don't mean a lot, and for me that's all you've got
But I swear to you, darling, one day we'll stand beneath a blue moon.
Well I've been living in this month of Sundays
And I forget what Monday morning feels like.
Blushing brides and handsome grooms, deep in debt from honeymoons
Stare above, but the moon is still white.
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Oh and I've wandered into wondering if one day
When the war is won, and one finally made two
Will we think not of what we're not, and think only of what we've got
And we'll go dancing underneath the blue moon.
Oh black kettles and black pots seem to fight an awful lot
And make the kitchen the most uncomfortable of rooms.
Empty words don't mean a lot, and for me that's all you've got
And I swear to you, darling, one day we'll stand beneath a blue moon.
Oh oh
So I've been living in this month of Sundays
And I don't know when this month may be through.
So will you tell me that you'll wait, for as long as it may take
And I swear, darling, I'll show you a blue moon.
Oh my darling, I'll show you a blue moon.
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