the tuning of violins

daylight breaks

and the black birds call-

and the market stalls are all filling up

spilling over the streets. high above

over notting hill-

i am floating still

in a wooden chair

with our restless dog. been away so long

i almost forgot how time and space

cannot replace this feeling of flying over things. now you're falling awake

your sleepy face begins to register

that i'm coming home- yeah

i'm coming home to you. on a sunday only we know

where the sunlight and the wind blows. over bluebells

over blackheath. calling your name

i will float through your window. major third

or a minor seventh-

i'm a violin tuned a little sharp

tuned a little below. coming around the bend

the hallway ends. the chair it dips

and then it bends-

and it has wings for legs. now you're deep in a dream

the sheets and pillowcases seem to overtake your head. i'm at the foot of our bed. break through the silence

the gulf that's between us. take all the heartache and bullshit that builds up. and we will unravel

unravel the moments. yeah we will unravel

unravel the moments. oh. on a sunday only we know

where the sunlight and the wind blows. over bluebells

over blackheath. calling your name

i will come to your window. on a sunday only we know

where the sunlight and the wind blows. on a sunday only we know

i'll be calling your name as i float through your window.