Passenger — Month of Sundays

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Well I’ve been living in this month of Sundays
For so long I don’t remember Saturday night
Broken records don’t play new tunes
Except for once in a blue Moon
And I have looked and the Moon is still white

And I’ve pinned some hope to the summit of some day
Someone somewhere may do something with his life
But smokers lungs don’t blow balloons
Except for once in a blue Moon
And I’ve looked but the Moon is still white

Rusty guns fire rusty shots
Leopards never change their spots
And fireworks always fade too soon
Empty words don’t mean a lot
And from me that’s all you’ve got
But I swear to you one day
We’ll stand beneath a blue Moon

Well I’ve been living in this month of Sundays
And I forget what Monday morning feels like
Blushing brides and handsome grooms
Deep in debt from honeymoons
Stare above but the Moon is still white

And I have wandered into wondering if one day
When the war is won and one finally made two
Will we think not of what we’re not
And think of only what we’ve got
And we’ll go dancing underneath a blue Moon

Oh black kettles and black pots
Seem to fight an awful lot
They make the kitchen the most uncomfortable of rooms
Empty words don’t mean a lot
And from me that’s all you’ve got
But I swear to you darling one day
We’ll stand beneath a blue Moon

So I’ve been living in this month of Sundays
And I don’t know when this month may be through
So will you tell me that you’ll wait
For as long as it may take
And I swear darling I’ll show you a blue Moon
Oh my darling I’ll show you a blue Moon