Faded Home Fires

Coffee stains on the wooden floor

Morning sun creeping through the door (mhm)

You left your book right on the shelf I guess I keep

it to myself

It's a quiet kind of Sunday afternoon (yeah)

Just the kitchen humming out of tune

Radio plays a dusty tune

Shadows stretch across the room (ahhh)

We let the hours slowly slip away

Nothing left for us to say

And the tea

gets cold on the sill

Everything is standing

perfectly still

It's a quiet kind of Sunday afternoon (mhm-mm)

Just the kitchen humming out of tune