Sunday Driver - Kyle Craft

You with a loaded gun, with your guitar and discount wine

And nobody heard your shot ring out and vanish there in the night

But come the morning, they’ll be askin'

Who it was and how it happened

What’s the reason?

What’s the boy’s real name?

And then they’ll take you to the square

And cite your false offenses there

Make you leave just as sick as you came

Ooh, they called you a Sunday driver

They cursed you down to the bone

They called you a Sunday driver

They said you don’t belong

Oh, but you got caught at dawn in a monsoon in New Orleans

And you were holding on both coasts, and every city between

And now you’ve lost and every mark links to your skin

And who are they to say what hurt you feel?

And who are they to draw the line

To say what’s yours and what is mine

And who are they to say what’s fake or real?

Ooh, they called you a Sunday driver

They called you a Sunday driver

As if they walked in your shoes

They called you a Sunday driver