Born Without Bones - Sunday | Текст песни

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• Born Without Bones
• Sunday

Today felt like sunday.
So did yesterday,
And the day before tomorrows war will be waking up for another day.
Just like every other day.

All my shirts don't fit.
All my words are shit.
Always looking for a flavor that don't exist.
Dependent on dependance that I don't declare.
So what's the problem here?
Here's to another shitty year.

Deflate my head.
Take me off of that cloud.
I am nothing to be proud of.
Take me off your back.
I want to run.
Off into the nearest setting sun.

I avoid mirrors.
Haven't seen myself in years.
Is my hair still brown?
Am I still a clown?
Or did my makeup wash away?
Did I melt on a summers day?

I can't change your view.
What I am to you is if I'm not good enough for myself.
Why am I too good for everybody else?
Here's the bullet, take your best shot.

Deflate my head.
Take me off of that cloud.
I am nothing to be proud of.
Take me off your back.
I want to run.
Off into the nearest setting sun, alright.

Today felt like sunday.
So did yesterday,
And the day before tomorrows war will be waking up for another day.
Just like every other day.

Deflate my head.
Take me off of that cloud.
I am nothing to be proud of.
Take me off your back.
I want to run.
Off into the nearest setting sun.

Deflate my head.
Take me off of these clouds.
Cause I am nothing to be proud of.
Take me off your back.
I want to run.
Off into the nearest loaded gun.


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