Daylight breaks and the blackbirds call.
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And the market stalls are all filling up.
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Spilling over the street.
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High above over Notting Hill
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I am floating still in a wooden chair
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With our restless dog.
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I’ve been away so long I almost forgot how time and space
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Cannot replace this feeling
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Of flying over things.
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Now you’re falling awake your sleepy face begins to register
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That I’m coming home.
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Yeah I’m coming home to you.
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On a Sunday only we know
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Where the sunlight and the wind blows.
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Over bluebells, over Blackheath.
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Calling your name I will float through your window.
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Major third
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Or a minor seventh.
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I’m a violin tuned a little sharp.
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Tuned a little below.
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Coming around the bend the hallway ends.
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The chair it dips and then it bends.
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And it has wings for legs.
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Now you’re deep in a dream
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The sheets and pillowcases seem to overtake your head.
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I’m at the foot of our bed.
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On a Sunday only we know
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Where the sunlight and the wind blows.
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Over bluebells, over Blackheath.
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Calling your name I will float through your window.
|
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Break through the silence.
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The gulf that’s between us.
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Take all the heartache and bullshit that builds up.
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And we will unravel
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Unravel the moments.
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Yeah we will unravel
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Unravel the moments.
|
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On a Sunday only we know
|
Where the sunlight and the wind blows.
|
Over bluebells, over Blackheath.
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Calling your name I will come to your window.
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I’ll be calling your name as I float through your window.
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-----------------
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The Tuning of Violins
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| Darren Hayes |
