Sunday (A Song)

Sung to a bluesy gospel tune.


Oh Lord I’m here just searching for Sunday

Every week it seems to slip away

Everything that I took for granted

A firm foundation broken down with decay


It was Sunday you escaped those grave clothes

You drew new breath and left them behind

It don’t matter how I cry and struggle

I can’t shake off these dirty rags of mine


They went down early to go and anoint you

They went to mourn you and dress your wounds

Now I’m no Savior but Lord I’ve been broken

And I’ve got wounds that need tending too


Oh Lord I’m here just searching for Sunday

Every thread I counted on has started to fray

All my words are too quick to unravel

How can I find you if I can’t even pray?


Sunday was the day that Mary saw you

That bright morning she carried the news

Ol’ denying Peter, he couldn’t believe her

Took his shame with him to that empty tomb


On Sunday they say you won the victory

Conquered hell and took away death’s sting

That’s all good, I guess I should be grateful

But these days it’s life that keeps stinging me


Oh Lord I’m here just searching for Sunday

It always seems to be two days away

I try to be patient, try to find my faith

Maybe I’ll get there but it won’t be today