The summers knocked upon my gate,
I sat with grievances growing late.
I fed them daily, year by year,
While life's best offerings disappeared.
There was a porch beneath a light,
Someone waiting every night.
I came with reasons, blame and pride,
While precious seasons passed outside.
Photographs along the wall
Changed so gently I missed it all.
A silver strand, a slower stride,
Time walked beside us, silent-eyed.
Friends drifted farther down the years,
Taking laughter, taking tears.
I thought tomorrow would remain,
Until tomorrow never came.
(Chorus)
Oh, if I could buy one hour,
Not from heaven, not from power,
Just one breakfast long ago,
One ordinary Sunday glow.
One more chance to hear them speak,
One more hand against my cheek.
Now the evening fills the room,
And forgotten moments bloom.
How many sunsets crossed the glass,
How many birthdays came to pass.
I chased victories made of air,
And left life's truest riches there.
My mother spoke of distant days,
My father taught in quiet ways.
I barely listened, hurried through,
Certain there'd be more to do.
The doctor speaks in measured tones,
The medicine waits beside my bones.
Outside, the fading daylight stays,
Lingering on these final days.
No fortune bears my family name,
No history remembers fame.
The only burden I still keep:
The love postponed, the promises asleep.
(Chorus)
Oh, if I could buy one hour,
Not from heaven, not from power,
Just one breakfast long ago,
One ordinary Sunday glow.
One more chance to hear them speak,
One more hand against my cheek.
Now the evening fills the room,
And forgotten moments bloom.
If these words should reach your ear,
Hold your people while they're here.
The grandest dreams eventually fall,
But shared affection outlives all.
Every road runs out of miles,
Every doorway loses smiles.
Nothing wounds the heart so deep As love postponed and left asleep.
Perhaps this is my last Sunday.
The final newspaper on my table.
The final shadow crossing the yard.
The final kettle singing in the kitchen.
Tomorrow may arrive without me.
And all the ordinary things
I barely noticed,
The sparrows on the fence,
The laughter from next door,
The sunlight on the curtains,
The voices in the hall,
Will continue,
Exactly as before,
Without my footsteps,
Without my chair,
Without my name.
Perhaps this is my last Sunday.
Astrikos Katoikos
Copyright ©️ 2009
Todos os Direitos Reservados
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