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"Hand in his hands through the park All afternoon A fine day to fly balloons or tell him a story Hand in his hand to wonder 'Til day is done Sunday Father and son Sundays are theirs to explore Alone by law One day to keep the two from turning to strangers One day to know the answers Be firm, be fun Sunday Father and son The father weaves through the weekend streets Sunday done, Monday coming on He leaves the child by a modest home That they share no more With the woman who waits indoors 'Til she knows he's gone Where are the words or the games? A place to go Someway to let him know you wanna be with him Somehow it's always ending Just half begun Sunday Father and son Sunday Father and son "