On the black Sunday afternoon
Sun is pale like the moon
When you look to the sky
Holy holy why
All fades into blue
On the black Sunday afternoon
No good time to walk alone
On a bike riding home
When you look to the sky
Holy holy why
All fades into blue
On the black Sunday afternoon
Bad luck come at just a car
On the right side hears a call
And sees a black ref flying low
Bother head no mistletoe
Nothing really moves
On black Sunday afternoons
You wake up in a water-bed
and on the back of your head
A lump and just a tiny hole
Almost no light at all in here
When you call
You can't hear your own voice at all
They gather up, something's wrong
The ask around, no one knows
Well have you been where the rivers cross
By the water in the moss
Nothing really moves
On black Sunday afternoons
Sun is pale like the moon
When you look to the sky
Holy holy, holy holy why
All fades into blue
On black Sunday afternoons