Lyrics

Sunday, the snow is falling
They did what they could
I hear a voice he’s calling
Just like I knew he would
Cerulean twilight greets me
It’s warm where I lay
My mind has gone completely
A long, lonely way
I’ll never learn to fake it
I can’t pretend to feel
There’s nothing here that’s sacred
…nothing here that’s real

Exiled in lost Decembers
We wait to take our turn
They choose to douse the ember
I choose to watch it burn

When they paint the sun, will it be in neon?
When they paint the sun, will it be in neon?
When they paint the sun, will it be in neon?
When they paint the sun...

I’m feeling good, I feel alright
Alright