Barry Manilow - Sunday Father lyrics

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 wait's 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