The Events of A Sunday Afternoon

Winds waver by the oak's new leaves
and still my rancid heart bleeds.

It's funny to imagine the skies are blue
because it will always remind me of you.

The blue ocean waves are roaring
like the lion inside that is sleeping.

One more chapter before I turn the pages
but another book is past my wages.

The writing tells me something inside
about how big my heart is wide.

So take me to a place far away,
so that I'll never stray.

Read me a story,
about the bus four orgy.

Take me back to my Sundays,
where the leaves are mundane.