The secret of life is a Sunday barbecue
Out in the yard, just me and you
And I’ll hug you from behind
And say, “What’s cooking, hun?”
And you’ll complain
About the lawn that needs mowing
And the screen door that needs fixing
And we’ll watch Netflix
Before we head to bed
And I’ll kiss you goodnight
And you’ll sleep with your back to me
And in the morning, we’ll have toast
And a quick peck before rushing for the bus
At three, you’ll send a text to say
Pick up some milk or something
And you’ll be working late again
And we’ll have takeout
And we’ll muddle through to Friday
And sleep in on Saturday
And before we know it, it’ll be Sunday again

So if that’s the best we can do
Then I don’t want to know better
Because I love you, baby
And that’s all we really need. Right?