My Sunday, my Church.Baby its hot outside.
Hit the street, neon birds grace my shirt, offering no help to make me fly. Sun colored skin glistens in 6 steps, the road I work to conquer.
A breeze whispers, giving me courage. Gaelic Storm urging me to jig, Pink yelling not to give in.
I hear my feet scuttling, shuffling trying to stay afloat. One step, two step, a thousand steps forward and back and a circle around.
I ask, Is it raining? The wind puts lips together, blows through the leaves, showering left over rain from the storm of last night. Once more, I am the Conqueror. The road laughs no more.
Baby its hot outside. My Sunday, my Church.