Been waiting for Sunday
all over the week Been working so hard
I can't even
creep Been waiting for Sundays
all through my life To say true, it's
Sunday
but the Sundays were grey
There ain't any light shining to
save People go out to visit a grave of someone who has passed away To say it's Sunday
but this Sunday is grey
God bless the dead,
they can't even see What's going on in heaven
What's going on in hell
And the things that we don't see But we all know so well
Well, dead men can't hear But you could listen Sunday's so
near You don't have to fear
My dear friend
next Sunday is coming
so soon Might be we'll meet us
in a very cool room Where people are
lying
with dead closed eyes And a smell that's perfume
for all kinds of
flies
There's hate between all those who live But friendship
between
all dead men on earth So don't hesitate and let us give birth to
a child called Hades
but not on a Sunday The child could be mad
'cause the
Sunday is grey
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