We return each day to the television
To watch a spot of sweet light.
When the same child comes running up
With a lesson done well, we delight
And kiss away our worries. She comes looking
After you with what is known to please,
Her happiness is sunlight.
And Sunday comes and stills time
For you to move at will.
The expectancy of these
Help us fulfill the long hours.
And if these fade away
The hours lengthen
Until there are no more any lessons
And her interest is kind of diffused.
But Sunday comes still
And you are forced to move at will.
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