Correction Lyrics Sunday Morning Fool by Andrew Gold

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Lyrics

Angel eyes and wounded cries
Are breaking Sunday morning fog
Just the last remains
Of the Saturday evening rains
And the smell of champagne from the hall

Old angel eyes, she breaks down
Breaks down and cries
I'm so tired of baby's blues
I tell her so, and she walks out the door
She hopes someone hurts me someday soon

She says: lover, what you do to me
You make me feel so bad
You treat me like your old piano stool
Twisted past, the breaking point
And broken like the word
I feel like a Sunday morning fool
God help us, Sunday morning fools

Demon's eyes - oh, they tear at
They tear at my insides
As them bells from St. John's ring
Oh, words above: when you turn on stolen love
Someone's gonna short change you someday

Lover, what you do to me
You make me feel so bad
You treat me like your old piano stool
Twisted past, the breaking point
And broken like the word
I feel like a Sunday morning fool
God help us, Sunday morning fools

And lover, what you do to me
You make me feel so bad
You treat me like your old piano stool
Twisted past, the breaking point
And broken like the word
I feel like a Sunday morning fool
I feel like a Sunday morning fool
I feel like a Sunday morning...

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