Sunday, the snow is falling
They did what they could
I hear a voice he’s calling
Just like I knew he would
Cerulean twilight greets me
It’s warm where I lay
My mind has gone completely
A long, lonely way
I’ll never learn to fake it
I can’t pretend to feel
There’s nothing here that’s sacred
…nothing here that’s real
Exiled in lost Decembers
We wait to take our turn
They choose to douse the ember
I choose to watch it burn
When they paint the sun, will it be in neon?
I’m feeling good, I feel alright
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