Lemon Sunday

Verse 1

I keep postcards in my shoes,

they bend with every step I choose.

The city smells like tangerine rain,

strangers hum my name.

Pre-Chorus

Nothing fits but it feels alright,

I lose my balance and gain new sight.

Chorus

Call me up on Lemon Sundays,

when the clocks forget their time.

We can laugh in broken hallways,

spill our secrets out like wine.

I don’t care for golden endings,

I don’t need the perfect line—

just your voice on Lemon Sundays,

falling crooked into mine.

Verse 2

I draw spirals on receipts,

collect the crumbs of strangers’ beats.

The traffic sings in crooked keys,

yet somehow it sounds like peace.

Pre-Chorus

Nothing fits but it feels alright,

we trade the wrongs for a stranger light.

Chorus

Call me up on Lemon Sundays,

when the clocks forget their time.

We can laugh in broken hallways,

spill our secrets out like wine.

I don’t care for golden endings,

I don’t need the perfect line—

just your voice on Lemon Sundays,

falling crooked into mine.

Bridge

Some lives run straight like railways,

ours just scribbles down the page.

But I’d rather trip through sideways,

than live inside a cage.

Final Chorus

Call me up on Lemon Sundays,

when the clocks forget their time.

We’ll be loud in quiet doorways,

with your heartbeat over mine.