In the world, the sun is coming up black
Cry, cry, pain filled doves that beat up against my window, my head
Blue and red, alive and dead
Keep the claws coiled and not understand the suffering
Cradled in madness, flirting with dead hope and sadness
What is real and true, true, true?
Bury me, Sundays are red
They hurt me like the needles of rain on my head
Bury me, Sundays are red
They hurt me like the needles of rain
Are you coming, are you coming down from there?
I can dance on the night mist with my wings, my wings
A thorn strokes me, a thorn chokes me nervously
Always a blood bath brooding 'neath my windows
Let me out, my body is rain, trickle through the cracks, trickle down mournful terrain
Not too far from the pavement, the cold grey truth
Bury me, Sundays are red
They hurt me like the needles of rain on my head
Bury me, Sundays are red
They hurt me like the needles of rain
Yeah
Sundays are red, Sundays are red
Sundays are red, some days are dead
Take me from the mad red, take me from the mad red and give me a peaceful blue
I do not like living when there is no giving
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense, it makes no sense
It makes no sense