Soft thoughts, pink bruises
Floral blankets, Sunday afternoons

You plucked flowers from my mother's garden
To lay across my cold, gray grave
Walked past a doe with a throat covered in blood
On your walk home
Drank wine straight from the bottle that evening
Kissed your girlfriend on the palms and went to bed
All you've ever done was take
All you've ever done was take

You are slowly unravelling pieces of you
That were sewn into me so well
I figured I lost you on the first Sunday in June
There was no rain in April
And no flowers in May

It's been two years, and you're still taking
And I'm still paying
And I'm still paying

Every day has been like Sunday
Silent and gray
Every day has been like Sunday
Silent and gray

Black hair, nails on a chalk board
Walls covered in maps, Sunday afternoons

And everyday has been like Sunday
Silent and gray
Silent and gray