Weekend Lover
Track 4 of Spring Fling
[ Lyrics ]
Fridays to Sundays, that’s our time. Fridays to Sundays, that’s our time. You pull up in your hoodie, takeout in the bag, still warm from the drive, yeah, you cut through the traffic lag. No texts all week, but your knock’s the same, door swings open, I say your name. We don’t talk ‘bout Monday, we don’t do small talk, just your hands on my waist like he forgot— like whoever came before left a stain, and you’re the rinse cycle, easing the pain. We burn the clock slow, wrap the nights in film, love like a scene we can pause and re-spool. No claim, no game, just skin on mine— Sunday comes quick, but we’re on rewind. Fridays to Sundays, that’s our time, no promises made, no need to define. You’re my weekend lover, my stolen sky, moonlight confessions, no goodbye. You choose the movie, I choose the light, dimmer low, shadows fight. Pause it at the climax just to kiss me wild, like we’re the ones worth remembering in this life. You trace my spine like you’re learning braille, don’t ask for forever, don’t tell me your mail. We’re both on pause, hearts off the grid, a secret so sweet that I don’t wanna commit. We talk in code, laugh at the lines, disappear when the real world shines. You don’t sleep over, just up and glide— Sunday night curfew, no tears, no cries. Fridays to Sundays, that’s our time, no promises made, no need to define. You’re my weekend lover, my stolen sky, moonlight confessions, no goodbye. I know you’re real, but this feels like a dream, a three-day holiday from everything. No alarm clocks, no plans to keep, just your breath warm on my neck, asleep. And when you leave, I lock the door slow— knowing you’ll come back, but not till I know… Fridays to Sundays, that’s our time, no promises made, no need to define. You’re my weekend lover, my almost right, three days of heaven, then back to the grind. Fridays to Sundays… that’s our time…