Sunday

(альбом: New Tradition - 2012)

Windows,
By design they're always close.
It's hopeless,
They're never open or known.
And burning,
We can't escape this house alone.
Helped a wretch like me

Wait till Sunday morning
I'll see the light,
Before I die so,
Conflicted now though,
Nothing matters.
But hereafter,
Hereafter.

Becoming,
Something I never was before.
Awakened,
By a truth I can't ignore.
And turning,
Onto the path I have instore.
That helped a wretch like me

Wait till Sunday morning
I'll see the light,
Before I die so,
Conflicted now though,
Nothing matters.
But hereafter,
Hereafter.

It's outside the line.
But it works for me.
Feels like I'm running blind.
I know that you can see.

If you could read my mind,
You'd be as lost as me.
Oh it takes it's time,

So I'll wait till Sunday morning
I'll see the light,
Before I die so,
Conflicted now though,
Nothing matters,
But hereafter,
Hereafter

Wait till Sunday morning
I'll see the light,
Before I die so,
Conflicted now though,
Nothing matters.
But hereafter,
Hereafter.