When the Work Is Done - Monkey Swallows The Universe

We go outside in the sun for the last hours of the day, for the best hours of the day

Our heads are sore from the day we’ve had or the night before

But our worries seem to pass when we lay down on the grass

In the dwindling light of the sun

In the arms of your only one

When the wait and the work has been done

Is this home?

Is this home?

I could be wrong — so what?

We won’t be young for long

And there are trees outside for us to climb

In case we grow too old before our time

In the dwindling light of the sun

In the arms of your only one

When the wait and the work has been done

Is this home?

Is this home?

At the prettiest part of the day

When the sunset starts out on her way

And his arms and his lips seem to say

This is home, this is home.