The Man Who Came on Sundays — Isaac B. Cole
Complete Digital Edition
$2.00
The Man Who Came on Sundays unfolds as a slow-burning story of childhood memory, unanswered questions and a truth concealed for decades. A nine-year-old boy watches the same mysterious man arrive every Sunday afternoon in a black car, bringing flowers, small gifts and an uncanny knowledge of the boy’s life. To the child, he is simply his mother’s friend — familiar, kind and yet never fully explained.
As the years pass, those Sunday visits abruptly end, leaving silence where questions might have been. Thirty years later, while clearing his mother’s bedroom after her death, the narrator discovers a faded box of letters and photographs. One image finally reveals what no one had ever said aloud.
The music gives the story enormous room to breathe. A slow, hypnotic soul-funk groove grows from a deep electric bass ostinato, restrained drums, wah-wah guitar, electric piano, muted trumpet and distant orchestral colour. Long instrumental passages allow tension and memory to accumulate gradually.
Isaac B. Cole’s ultra-deep bass-baritone remains controlled and conversational throughout, delivering the lyric more as remembered testimony than conventional song. Dark, spacious and cinematic, the result is a story about what a child notices, what families leave unsaid, and how one photograph can suddenly rearrange an entire lifetime.
24-bit lossless audio • High-resolution artwork • Complete lyrics • Full credits & rights information
Sunday afternoon
Quarter after three
Black car by the kerbside
Same man looking down at me
Always wore a dark suit
Even when the weather burned
Mama would tell me, " Go on outside"
Every time that man returned
What had he come to tell her
What had brought him back again
I was nine years old
I only knew him as her friend
Sometimes he'd bring flowers
Sometimes something wrapped in brown
Sometimes he'd slip a dollar
In my hand before I ran
Never called me son
Never stayed till evening came
But somehow when he talked to me
He always knew my name
Knew I'd broken Mama's window
Knew I'd started playing ball
Funny how a Sunday visitor
Seemed to know it all
One day outside the schoolhouse
I saw that black car slow
There was another little boy
Standing where I used to go
He climbed into the front seat
Like he'd done it all before
And the man who came on Sundays
Didn't see me by the door
I never told my mama
Never asked her what I'd seen
Some questions when you're thirteen
You don't know quite what they mean
Then one Sunday there was nothing
Quarter after three came round
Mama sat beside the window
Never made a single sound
Four o'clock became the evening
Still no black car in the street
She took the flowers from the table
Dropped them somewhere at her feet
He never came next Sunday
Never came the week beyond
And after that his name became
A thing we didn't talk upon
Thirty years went by between us
Mama finally passed away
I was clearing out her bedroom
On a cold November day
Found a box beneath her dresses
Tied with ribbon, faded blue
Letters I had never heard of
Photographs I'd never knew
There was Mama, young and laughing
There was him without his suit
Holding something in his arms
Like it was the only truth
I turned the picture over
There was writing underneath
Mama's hand, a date, a sentence
That took the air from me
Three words beside my birthday
Nothing more she had to say
His little boy
And suddenly every Sunday
Came walking back my way
Performed by: Isaac B. Cole
Creative Direction & Executive Production: Peter Pickering
Creative Production & Release Management: Parichad
Digital Publishing & Platform Operations: Tankawin Khong On
Recorded at Sessions on the Green® Studio 2
A Sessions on the Green® production
Publisher: Sessions on the Green®
Songwriter / Legal Rights: Peter Pickering
© & ℗ 2026 Sessions on the Green® / Peter Pickering. All rights reserved.
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