I can feel you watching me, I know your eyes all too well, Even when you're not close enough, I'm still enchanted by your spell. Sunday morning, center aisle, I look up, wanting to hide, No other place but only one way, Right by you, it's clear as day. Your forehead creases when you see me, I can see the questions in your eyes, I'm mumbling "Oh Lord have mercy." Cause my answers are mere empty lines. Sunday mornings, the warming sun, Knows our story, weekly burns, Age old brick walls, age old chandeliers, Stand more strong before our failures. I used to see you watching me, I was beginning to know your eyes, You'd stand so close enough to me, I could've started saying you're Mine. A sunday morning, it all began, Two teenagers, one piece of land, Your words, your life, your dreams, My ears, my pulse, my sleep. I'd see you this way, every 7 days, I'd keep on missing our story, As on our *duomo* the sun's rays, Your eyes looked so pretty on me.