On Sunday mornings when the world is asleep,
We hack away on the promises we mean to keep.

When the summer sun sets in the distant west,
We are tired, aching, and drenched in sweat.

Yet, the painful blisters on our toes and heels
Cannot touch our fervent minds or our hearts of steel

That rushing pump of blood in our deepest of veins
Harnesses our goals as our spirits burst their chains

The cool water we drink and the hot tears we shed
Will not hinder, but focus the thoughts in our heads

So as we prepare to take our faithful leap
Remember the promises that we still mean to keep

And all of those Sunday mornings when the world
was asleep