Sunday Father Lyrics - Barry Manilow

Hand in his hands through the park 

All afternoon 

A fine day to fly balloons or tell him a story 

Hand in his hand to wonder 

Till day is done 

Sunday father and son 

Sundays are theirs to explore 

Alone by law 

One day to keep the two from turning to strangers, 

One to know the answers 

Be firm, be fun 

Sunday father and son 

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The father weaves through the weekend streets 

Sunday alone, Monday comin'on 

He leaves the child by a modest home 

That they share no more 

With the woman who waits indoors 

Till she knows he's gone 

Photos 

Where are the words or the games 

A place to go 

Someway to let him know you want to be with him 

Somehow it's always ending 

Just half begun 

Sunday father and son 

Sunday father and son