Month of Sundays

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
'cept for once in a blue moon
And I've looked but the moon is still white

And I've pinned some hope to the summit of someday
Someone somewhere may do something with his life
A smoker's lungs don't blow balloons
'cept 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 for me that's all you've got
But I swear to you darling
One day we'll stand beneath a blue moon

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

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

Oh black kettles and black pots seem to fight an awful lot
And make the kitchen the most uncomfortable of rooms
Empty words don't mean a lot
And for me that's all you've got
And I swear to you darling
One day we'll stand beneath a blue moon

Oh oh

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