This day of rest is bloody. I cannot picture more than one single thought that’s calm and the rest is bloody. I have to row myself over this ocean with all the emotions I can’t grip alone in my sofa. Confused enough for my head to split in half and flip and twist itself until it is getting glad. I miss my past in the same second I don’t. (When I’m thinking back at the weekend so you’re not getting me wrong) Batteling the agony inside of me. Each week after the Saturday evening my life doesn’t have any meaning. Preparing myself four and a half day before I am getting out and forget about life a little while. I might pretend I’m happy, but only when I stay drunk. I know it’ll hit back the next morning when I wake up. Sunday is for couples not for singles, not for thinkers. If I would have got the power I would have Sundays forbidden... Time is running out, life is too short. (See what's going on?) Take one step by the time, life is running out. Days running into months running into years. Bury me in pressure just to press away the fears. And I lift my eyes over buildings and their ceilings. This time silly little images gon' build this. See no possibilities but problems in my way while I raise my voice and singing that I don’t know what to say. So I stay calm, passive and believe that I can fly. Cause it ain’t no panic when I step away from time. A second is a minute is an hour is a day. I’m off, and stop to watch it fade away. Life is just major and minor, no label or title. Nowadays an overdose of minor would make me retire. I like to fight and struggle, so when nothing can stop it I torture my emotions just because I like to suffer. Motherfuckin Sundays! It's to much for my brain! Having a great time is forgotten straight after, I got this brain damage. And gamble it all in, like poker and pornomovies. And keep hurting on purpose, like I was born to do this. Moving forward slowly surely. Packing my equipment Sunday evening for the Monday morning. Sole-to-the-mate. Beginning to regain my strength, and when the beat fades out that’ll really make my day. But give me one more setback and I swear I’m gonna kill me. God forgive me for the time I'm killing in my magic village. My world is upside down, I’m still up and running. But it isn’t easy on a Sunday. Bloody fuckin Sunday! Time is running out, life is too short. (See what's going on?) Take one step by the time, life is running out. Days running into months running into years. Bury me in pressure just to press away the fears. And I lift my eyes over buildings and their ceilings. This time silly little images gon' build this. See no possibilities but problems in my way while I raise my voice and singing that I don’t know what to say. So I stay calm, passive and believe that I can fly. Cause it ain’t no panic when I step away from time. A second is a minute is an hour is a day. I’m off, and stop to watch it fade away... Text: Emanuel Sjöström | www.solematemusic.com |