The Sun
The sun hangs over Sunday
And I'm tangled in sheets.
And it creeps between my eyelids.
Seems the blinds sprung a leak.
Pills crushed in wine are a
Headache sometimes.
But not 'til the feeling's worn off.
Still the sun hangs over Sunday
And I'm not gettin up.
There's nothing like a beautiful morning.
No, there's nothing like a beautiful day.
No, there's nothing like a beautiful morning,
To make me hate the way I hate myself today.
Well the sun hangs over Sunday
I pull the blankets above my head.
And it creeps between the stitches.
I melt like wax in my bed.
There was someone here last night
Before I closed my eyes.
She's just a scent on the sheets
Still the sun hangs over Sunday
And I'm gettin the fuck back to sleep.
And there's nothing like a beautiful morning.
No, there's nothing like a beautiful day.
No, there's nothing like a beautiful morning,
To make me hate the way I hate myself today.
Well the sun hangs over Sunday
And I'm hungover as well
No the sun hangs over Sunday
And I'm hungover as hell.
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