Sleep In Sundays все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

To be truthful, I will say that I miss you. Honestly, everyday I don't know what to do. So this is where we are: I'm at home alone--you wouldn't stay.

And I know what it means to be the self-loathing kind. These walls are crying. I close my eyes to see your lies:

The door, the cold, and all I know; I'm killing time until I will finally be alone.

So this is what I know of you. My dreams, they are in black. My head hurts and I call, you never answer back. I can't stop myself from missing you. The cold just stings so deep. Loneliness prevails in me. I wish that I could...

When I woke up today I had a pain in my back--you know, the kind that never lasts. Just this aching remorse. No need to be forceful, I'll crawl back in the sheets, where no one will look for me. So if I die before I wake, I'll know who to thank.

The rain streaked down the windows for the rest of the day, and I could not conjure your face. I was dreaming of the days when I walked home with you--the street so blue, the things that I could never do.

There are a lot of moments that I've lost, but the wash of wet streets continues to list them off. Like: that coat, your hand, the theater, and the band--sinking in no man's land. Bonfires, backyards, basements--pleading: "Please don't go. Your memory means more than you can know."

You go, I will leave alone, going home. There's nothing left to do here, nothing left to be. I am going out.

More flames will flicker, yes, more lips will lie in time. Your name's just ringing bells now. This city's falling down. Find memories in rotting wood, and...

The wind will whisper me your new name now, somehow. This house is built on secrets, these walls are full of shit, and I am going down...

I hear that hollow hearts are beating, bringing two where once was one.

Oh, I've braved the wells and the sunsets and there's nothing left but to accept this. Because not a day goes by that I don't think what I'd say should you come to me again. But in the same way, I've never lived a day that I wished would never end.

I'll go to sleep, pretend you need me, although I know you don't. You never did. It's just something I'll make believe.

I would weave your hair into perfect thread, lay its blanket down on the softest bed. And if winter gets too cold we'll burn these feeble walls, and then I would cut off all my skin just to give you something warm to sleep in.

Please, accept this gift--these meager words--and curl up inside. There you'll hide, and I will wait for the crickets call, until I'm welcome here again.

I'm not angry, never have been, not after all that we've been through. But I read about all of your mistakes, and I don't want a thing to do with you.

If distance makes the heart grow fond, why do we bear these broken bonds?

It's okay if you don't return my calls, I can pretend that I don't care. There are worse things in this wretched world than never meeting your cold, blank stare. Like: Long lines there at the grocery store, cold coffee, or weak tea. I hate to say it, but you're not as important as you used to be.

The ground still shivers and the wind still sighs. The disdain in the topsoil grows and multiplies.