For the rest of us there is always Sunday
The day of the week that reeks of rest but all we do is catch our breaths
We all carry these things inside that no one else can see.
They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea.
For the rest of us there is always Sunday
The day of the week that reeks of rest but all we do is catch our breaths
We all carry these things inside that no one else can see.
They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea.
