Lovely Psycho

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 dead hope and sadness what is real and true.

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, my wings a

thorn stroke 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 trickle down 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, Somedays 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.