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Sunday bloody sunday
Lies in stark wait,
The boastful sun's day,
Alluring the paltry with a promise of gold
And a song full of joy.
Little does it care,
About the exalt a lesser man bestows,
To give anything in return,
To lie in stark wait,
A night before,
To see the sun rise on a sun's day,
In an ostentatious display,
Of a monosyllabic sigh,
As it ends in the wink of an eye,
And the weary bastard falls asleep again,
To the misleading tune of another sun's day,
That eludes the naked eye,
And bribes the sandman for a victim of his own choosing.
© windrider
The boastful sun's day,
Alluring the paltry with a promise of gold
And a song full of joy.
Little does it care,
About the exalt a lesser man bestows,
To give anything in return,
To lie in stark wait,
A night before,
To see the sun rise on a sun's day,
In an ostentatious display,
Of a monosyllabic sigh,
As it ends in the wink of an eye,
And the weary bastard falls asleep again,
To the misleading tune of another sun's day,
That eludes the naked eye,
And bribes the sandman for a victim of his own choosing.
© windrider
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