Stephen Sondheim Sunday - Finale Lyrics

[GEORGE, spoken]
Dot, why did you write these words?

[DOT, spoken]
They are your words, George. The ones you muttered so often when you worked

[GEORGE, spoken]
"Order"
"Design"
"Tension"
"Composition"
"Balance"
"Light"
Dot, I cannot read this word

[DOT, spoken]
Harmony[COMPANY]
Sunday
By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Purple yellow red grass
As we pass
Through arrangements of shadows
Towards the verticals of tree 
[GEORGE, spoken]
So much love
In his words...
Forever with his colors...
How George looks... He can look forever...
What does he see? His eyes
So dark and shiny... so careful... so exact...

[COMPANY]
Forever
By the blue
Purple yellow red water
On the green
Orange violet mass
Of the grass

[DOT]
In our perfect park

[GEORGE]
Made of flecks of light
And dark

[COMPANY]
And parasols...
People strolling through the trees
Of a small suburban park
On an island in the river
On an ordinary Sunday...
Sunday...
Sunday...

[GEORGE, spoken]
White. A blank page or canvas. His favorite. So many possibilities...