About the song
The boxes are still there. So are the chores. For one quiet Sunday, they can wait.
FIRST QUIET SUNDAY by mBaileyz.
About these notes
AI-assisted song notes, based on the sources shown here. Not yet human-reviewed.
Words from the artist’s archive
FIRST QUIET SUNDAY lyrics
Lyrics supplied by mBaileyz.
Read the lyric sheet
Intro
I woke up ready to hurry. First quiet Sunday.
Verse 1
Six-twelve. Bed creaks. I reach for yesterday's jeans. Two feet on the floor; my thumb wakes up the screen. Four taped boxes stacked against the paint. Front lock clicks; I don't lean in with my weight. Two work shirts hang from the bathroom rail. Rent date circled on a piece of opened mail. I reach for a cup; it's right above the sink. No digging through a bag to find a thing to drink. "First I've got to..." Nothing comes to mind. I shrug my coat off, hang it on the chair behind. The seat takes all the weight I kept on both my feet. My coffee leaves a ring beside the keys.
Chorus
First quiet Sunday. What do I do with all this space? First quiet Sunday. Let me sit. The rest can wait. Wait.
Verse 2
One swipe, screen bright. I check it out of habit. No call to make, but still my thumb goes at it. I spot one box and start to clear a space. I could spend all day finding work to take its place. You're curled up, bare feet tucked beneath your knees, Laughing at a show I've seen in bits all week. I start, "As soon as..." Stop. You look at me. There's nothing left to finish before I take a seat. I set the phone facedown beside the bread. Pull back both curtains, let the light spread. "Eggs or toast?" I ask. "We've got the time." I move the box so your chair fits next to mine.
Chorus
First quiet Sunday. What do I do with all this space? First quiet Sunday. Let me sit. The rest can wait. Wait.
Bridge
I used to count the day by what got done. Now I keep counting when there's nothing on. My hand's still closed beneath the table edge. I lay it open on my knee instead.
Final Chorus
First quiet Sunday. What do I do with all this space? First quiet Sunday. Let me sit. The rest can wait. First quiet Sunday. What should we do with all this space? First quiet Sunday. Sit with me. The rest can wait. Wait.
Outro
First quiet Sunday.
Loop
First quiet Sunday. What do I do with all this space? First quiet Sunday. Let me sit. The rest can wait. Wait.
mBaileyz
Inside the recording
I woke up ready to hurry. First quiet Sunday.
First quiet Sunday. What do I do with all this space? First quiet Sunday. Let me sit. The rest can wait. Wait.
I used to count the day by what got done. Now I keep counting when there's nothing on. My hand's still closed beneath the table edge. I lay it open on my knee instead.
Lyrics supplied by mBaileyz.