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Sunday Morning, at a Funeral - La Dispute
Written by：Jordan Dreyer/Brad Vander Lugt/Adam Vass/Kevin Whittemore/Chad Sterenberg
Sunday morning still
Laid innocent in sheets
Barely half asleep
Sunday morning I was dreaming I was turning from a busy street
Into a parking lot
Sunday morning broke
And dragged me out of bed
Slightly less asleep
Sunday morning I was warming all the cold parts of my head
In cups and coffee pots
In the winter I wonder
What it's like to be anywhere else
To be anywhere but here
If I leave and don't return I hope the factories get full
Of people making furniture with
The river running clear
Sunday morning fell
Apart and back to sleep
Where I was running late
Where I looked out of place
Sunday morning pace of steady nervous feet
Headed for the church doors
Sunday morning dressed
In suits and shades of black
Sunday morning soft in sunday best
Sunday someone's never coming back here
To this place anymore
In the winter I wonder
What it's like to be anywhere else
To be anywhere but here
If I leave and don't return I hope the factories get full
Of people making furniture with
The river running clear
Sunday morning stared
At rows of crowded pews
Half or all asleep
Looking for a seat
Sunday morning waiting for a call from you
But didn't hear my phone ring
Sunday morning had
To sit and watch you bawl
Sunday morning left the ringer off
Sunday morning missed it when you called and
Couldn't do a thing
But watch
In the winter I wonder what it's like to be where you are
Where you are where you are
In the winter I wonder what it'd be like if you were still here
Would the factories fill
Would the river run clear
Would the river run
Sunday morning dreamt
About a moment passed
About a time I failed
Sunday morning I was staring at a clock trying to push it back
Sunday morning wished to be a kid
Sunday morning shook
Me all the way awake
Stirred me from the dream
Sunday morning I was thinking of a phone call I should make
But never did
I never did
