Luyện nghe bài hát Seven Sundays

This tie's fitting a little too tight
Might have had one too many night
I wonder if it's written all my face
It's a little while since I've seen this place

I'm sitting here in the back row
Like a long son is come back home
When I bow my head and off my hat
A Sunday morning me back

Growing up under that hometown steeple
Learning God hates sin but still loves
The preacher 'bout the Promised Land
And me thinking 'bout Jesse Lane's hand

And one hot summer I was thirteen
Took my soul to the river and it clean
Feels so good, Lord, why there be
Sundays a week?

Well, I can still hear singing strong and low
It is well, it is well with my
And mama up the Sunday best
I can still count every flower on her blue sun

I've done a lot of living those days
But a boy comes back he's been raised

Growing up that hometown church steeple
Learning God hates sin but still loves
The preaching 'bout the Promised Land
And me thinking 'bout holding Jesse Lane's

And one hot when I was thirteen
my soul to the river and washed it clean
Feels so good, Lord, why there be
Sundays a week?

It was soft games
And it was true waits
And all of amazing things
About amazing

Growing up under hometown church steeple
Learning God hates sin but still people
The preacher 'bout the Promised Land
And me thinking 'bout holding Jesse Lane's

And one hot summer when I was
Took my soul to the river and washed it
It feels so good, Lord, why there be
Seven a week?

Sundays a week