Album: This Delicate Thing We've Made (2007)The Tuning Of ViolinsDaylight breaks, and the black birds call-
And the market stalls are all filling up, spilling over the streets.
High above, over Notting Hill-
I am floating still, in a wooden chair, with our restless dog.
Been away so long, I almost forgot how time and space
Cannot replace this feeling of flying over things.
Now you're falling awake, your sleepy face begins to register
That I'm coming home- yeah, I'm coming home to you.
[Chorus:]
On a Sunday only we know, where the sunlight and the wind blows.
Over bluebells, over Blackheath.
Calling your name, I will float through your window.
Major third, or a minor seventh-
I'm a violin tuned a little sharp, tuned a little below.
Coming around the bend, the hallway ends.
The chair it dips, and then it bends-
And it has wings for legs.
Now you're deep in a dream, the sheets and pillowcases seem to overtake your head.
I'm at the foot of our bed.
[Chorus x2]
Break through the silence, the gulf that's between us.
Take all the heartache and bullshit that builds up.
And we will unravel, unravel the moments.
Yeah we will unravel, unravel the moments.
Oh...
On a Sunday only we know, where the sunlight and the wind blows.
Over bluebells, over Blackheath.
Calling your name, I will come to your window.
On a Sunday only we know, where the sunlight and the wind blows.
On a Sunday only we know,
I'll be calling your name as I float through your window.
