The Sunday

Cross out the ending: Sunday's coming, Monday
Swap in the start, Monday's next to impossible
Prone on a glue trap I placed down
Only chronic action gnaws me out

Ask me anything, even if it's painful
Come back on Monday, validate your patience
Drain a couple cans in the noon heat
Only need the flattery semi-weekly
Bandaid on my ego, it's peeling

Practice my act on a beam
Going on top of our tallest building
Drumming as hard as I can
I want the power, and my beat is dangerous
Puncturing the sky

Sunday's coming, Monday

Treat me for constant 180s
X-ray's in my shape, but it isn't me
Circle past the weekend, take my demons swimming again

Practice my act on a beam
Going on top of our tallest building
Drumming as hard as I can
I want the power, and my beat is dangerous
Yes, I want the power, and I think I'm made for it
Clouds across the sky