On top of all the mountains,and with the summer snow,
i'm lookin' down on all the folks below.
Six billion little freckles,
with freckles of their own,
it's colder here than I have ever known.
Between the lakes and highways,
the grass and field scene,
looks more essential than i've ever seen.
Scattered homes and patterns,
a quilt of carpentry,
one square down there with care was built by me.
I'll make it through,
the moments without you,
i've chosen exile for the view,
and I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
hey.
Inside the vacant cabin,
the fire will not start,
i'll have a glass of wine to warm my heart.
Outside the northwest window,
a flock of birds goes by,
I wonder how they stay so side by side.
I'll make it through,
the moments without you,
i've chosen exile for the view,
and I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday.
But on my way down,
i'm gonna paint all the towns,
and if I miss a few spots,
i'll simply turn back around.
On my way down,
i'm gonna crank up the sound,
i'm gonna party like the devil,
until I reach sea level.
I'll make it through,
and I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday.
