The Sun

The sun hangs over Sunday and I'm tangled in sheets it creeps between my eyelids seems the blinds sprung a leak pills crushed in wine are a headache sometimes but not 'til the feelings worn off still the sun hangs over Sunday and I'm not getting up There's nothing like a beautiful morning no there's nothing like a beautiful day no there's nothing like a beautiful morning to make me hate the way I hate myself today the sun hangs over Sunday I pull the blankets over my head and it creeps between the stitches I melt like wax in my bed there was someone here last night before I closed my eyes She's just a scent on the sheets still the sun hangs over Sunday and I'm gettin' the f**k back to sleep the sun hangs over Sunday and I'm hung over as well the sun hangs over Sunday and I'm hung over as hell