Sunday Nights Lyrics - Poetry Of The Deed - Frank Turner

Sunday nights are slow surrender 

It never lasts and we'll never learn 

We can still make this one to remember 

It's Sunday night and we've time to burn 

Tomorrow morning can wait its turn 

Charge your glasses, raise a toast 

To the memory gained 

To the sleep that we lost 

Another weekend run to ground 

Another passing coat of red 

Painted across our town 

Work is shallow, cuts are deep 

Who would waste two days respite? 

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You can't catch up on sleep 

So here we are, last chance saloon 

The ticking clock and a slow defeat 

It'll all be over soon 

Sunday nights are slow surrender 

It never lasts and we'll never learn 

We can still make this one to remember 

It's Sunday night and we've time to burn 

Tomorrow morning can wait its turn 

Once more friends unto the breach 

Bleary eyed, the stuff of dreams 

Always slips out of reach 

Defiance dressed in crumpled clothes 

Protest played out with a headache 

Starting late but going slow 

Though we know we have to be here 

We have tasted freer air, we don't have to care 

Photos 

Sunday nights are slow surrender 

It never lasts and we'll never learn 

We can still make this one to remember 

It's Sunday night and we've time to burn 

Tomorrow morning can wait its turn 

All our days will fade away 

In hazy nights and clear mistakes 

So here's to us and needs that must 

Let's raise a toast for one last boast 

'Cause it's Sunday night and we've time to burn 

Tomorrow morning can wait its turn