Lyrics
Sunday market, the awnings are gold, Peaches in pyramids, ripe and bold. I filled up a paper bag, sweet and warm, Meant for your doorstep, before the storm. But my feet found the long way round, Past the fiddler, past the sound. Oh, the peaches I meant to bring you, Are sunshine in my hands. Every step toward your window Is a question that still stands. So I'll knock, and I'll say it plainly, With juice upon my sleeve, The peaches were an excuse, my love, For the heart I couldn't leave. A woman at the cheese stall winks at me, She knows a nervous man when she can see. She wraps up a ribbon, a tiny blue bow, Says, go on, young man, it's time you go. So my feet found the straight way now, Past the fountain, past the crowd. Oh, the peaches I meant to bring you, Are sunshine in my hands. Every step toward your window Is a question that still stands. So I'll knock, and I'll say it plainly, With juice upon my sleeve, The peaches were an excuse, my love, For the heart I couldn't leave. Summer evenings fade so fast, Words unsaid don't always last. Here's the bag and here am I, Under your window, beneath the sky. Oh, the peaches I meant to bring you, Are sunshine in my hands. Every step toward your window Is a question that still stands. So I'll knock, and I'll say it plainly, With juice upon my sleeve, The peaches were an excuse, my love, For the heart I couldn't leave. The peaches were an excuse, my love, For the heart I couldn't leave.