On top of all the mountains,
and with the summer snow,
i'm lookin' down on all the folks below.

Six billion little freckles,
with freckles of their own,
it's colder here than I have ever known.

Between the lakes and highways,
the grass and field scene,
looks more essential than i've ever seen.

Scattered homes and patterns,
a quilt of carpentry,
one square down there with care was built by me.

I'll make it through,
the moments without you,
i've chosen exile for the view,
and I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
hey.

Inside the vacant cabin,
the fire will not start,
i'll have a glass of wine to warm my heart.

Outside the northwest window,
a flock of birds goes by,
I wonder how they stay so side by side.

I'll make it through,
the moments without you,
i've chosen exile for the view,
and I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday.

But on my way down,
i'm gonna paint all the towns,
and if I miss a few spots,
i'll simply turn back around.

On my way down,
i'm gonna crank up the sound,
i'm gonna party like the devil,
until I reach sea level.

I'll make it through,
and I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday,
I won't come down 'til Sunday.