On a Sunday morning I am free to lie around and listen to the rain

Though I'd prefer to sleep soundly to the rhythm and the whistle of the train

Instead I am restless and impressed at my being awake before evening comes

What's there to do in the outside world that I can't do from the comfort of home

What's the light you have behind your head, masking your face in a silhouette

How'd you get so plucky, rather ducky, dear I'm here to wipe the sweat

Right off that pretty little brow of yours

On the first of March, when all the forecasts point to snow, I like to lie around and listen to the quiet

It's hard enough to sit this still, waiting...with the you-shaped void and me-shaped void beside it

What's the light you have behind your head, masking your face in a silhouette

How'd you get so plucky, rather ducky, dear I'm here to wipe the sweat

Right off that pretty little brow of yours