Text: Barry Manilow. One Voice. Sunday Father.

:
Hand in his hands through the park
All afternoon
A fine day to fly balloons or tell him a story
Hand in his hand to wonder
Till day is done
Sunday father and son

Sundays are theirs to explore
Alone by law
One day to keep the two from turning to strangers,
One to know the answers
Be firm, be fun
Sunday father and son

The father weaves through the weekend streets
Sunday alone, Monday comin?on
He leaves the child by a modest home
That they share no more
With the woman who waits indoors
Till she knows he's gone

Where are the words or the games
A place to go
Someway to let him know you want to be with him
Somehow it's always ending
Just half begun
Sunday father and son
Sunday father and son