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Sunny Sunday

de Luca Sestak

A old tree in the city park
There is a leaf into his soul
I can mean I did see his wood into my scars
Oh, I often feed his birds

Oh, when will this stop?
The end of a season is merciless and raw
Oh, this is a little piece of a died craw
Oh, this is a tired body in the sand

Oh, no, no, no
Sometimes I remember all the old blood
Gray skies, a fallen rose and a piece of my wood
My own wood

Oh but I know I'll tear all my wood
Oh sometimes I don't know where I go
Oh but I know I'll tear all my wood
Oh sometimes
I know, I know
Yeah

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