In the world the sun is coming up black cry, cry   Pain filled doves and 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 the dead    Hope and sadness   What is real and true      Bury me Sundays are red   They hurt me like the needles of rain   Bury me Sundays are red   They hurt me like the needles of rain      Are you coming, are you coming   Dawn from there I can dance on the night wind with my wings   With 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 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      Sundays are red, Sundays are red   Sundays are red, somedays 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