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, some days 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

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Writer(s): JUDD COCHRANE, KRISTY THIRSK, RICHARD MARANDA, STEVEN VAN DER WOERD