Track 5 of the album Every Glass Held Up · 2018
Sunday Calls With Dad
“Our own Sunday phone calls, set to a warm piano. Imogen sang it for her dad down the line before we recorded it.”
classical crossover · choral pop · tender ballad · 3:53
Lyrics
Every Sunday, half past four The phone lights up my kitchen floor He says the garden's gone to seed And tells me all the birds I need His voice is slower than it was He stops to find the words, because The years have worn the edges down But not the warmth, not the sound I ask him how his week has been He tells me every little scene Oh, Sunday calls with Dad The best hour that I've had Tea going cold, the stories told The same ones, and I'm glad Let the minutes stretch out long Hum along to his old song Sunday calls with Dad Keep us close, keep us strong He's learned to press the video And holds it up to show me, oh His ceiling and his thumb and then His smile comes round again He asks if I am eating right He asks if I am sleeping tight The roles have turned, but love's the same He still calls me by my name I ask him how his week has been He tells me every little scene Oh, Sunday calls with Dad The best hour that I've had Tea going cold, the stories told The same ones, and I'm glad Let the minutes stretch out long Hum along to his old song Sunday calls with Dad Keep us close, keep us strong Miles of wire and a little sky Between his chair and where I lie But when he laughs, the distance folds And I am home, and I am held Oh, Sunday calls with Dad The best hour that I've had Tea going cold, the stories told The same ones, and I'm glad Let the minutes stretch out long Hum along to his old song Sunday calls with Dad Keep us close, keep us strong Talk to you next Sunday, Dad Talk to you next Sunday