A pen and a cup,
they are my seed,
to withstand a filthy need,
and to fulfill an empty creed.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to witness a Sunday Smile.

Waking up to the cold air again,
grasping hold of me again,
and the fire is gone.
The wind shuffling the pages of my life,
but I think I’m a little more stable now.
The frequent cheap, empty talks don’t bother me as much.
The songs you taught me,
stuck longer than the religion you sought for me.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to reach a Sunday Smile.

I stand still until,
the day gives me the words I’m looking for.
Feels like a collection of meaningful drunk words.
Whenever I look down,
I see my weary conscience,
waving hello in a shallow puddle.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to feel a Sunday Smile.

Although I’ve never toured the universe,
forward or reverse,
I have witnessed pale truth,
in a life of epilepsy.
She introduced me to the world,
through a Polaroid view,
as she critiqued my life of solitude.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to hold onto a Sunday Smile.