Appears on
Releases
Words
Lyrics
Verse
Glass and granite, silent now,
Where the crowd once furrowed brow.
Footsteps echo, just my own,
In canyons built of steel and stone.
The Gherkin sleeps, the bankers gone,
Pigeons hold their muted throne.
Even time walks slow today —
A holy hush on Threadneedle Way.
Chorus
Sunday in the Square Mile,
No rush, no deals, no practiced smile.
Just shadows cast by things once loud,
Now softened under drifting cloud.
I walk through ghosts in tailored grey,
And hear the city breathe, not say.
Verse
Pub doors closed, their stories kept,
Empty offices where secrets slept.
Church bells ring with no one near,
A sermon only I can hear.
The sun leans in through glass too clean,
A world between the seen and seen.
A map of power, drawn and paused,
By laws and markets, now on cause.
Chorus
Sunday in the Square Mile,
The citys’ bare, but not hostile.
Beneath the pinstripes and the spin,
There’s beauty where the noise has been.
No horns, no haste, no rising steam —
Just quiet holding back a dream.
Bridge
It’s not dead, it’s just asleep,
The castle resting from the keep.
And in its pause, I find my place —
A stillness that I can embrace.
Chorus
Sunday in the Square Mile,
Where silence wears a knowing smile.
I walk alone but not unseen,
The city nods — it’s felt, it’s been.
And though tomorrow wakes the race,
For now, it’s just this sacred space.