When the moon is high, and I'm but just refining
Caught in the world's grown cold
Over a ton of days I've been here
With its wipe I'm yearning
In precincts rooted some at that
Field of control
You're weak and on the road now
Waiting for Sunday, and I'm in brawny
The cold, my limiting senses flee
Subway sounds when you're low and
Where bars are sold, dance up in proof
Fingers free
Frail and weak
In this silence so, so deep
Love feels so far
In my dreams I see
Moments we could be
It's a long road now
Waiting for Sunday
Behind closed eyes
I see low where we are free
Holding on to hope
Till that dream is real
In meth and ore
In quenny mints we could be
But it's a long road now
Waiting for Sunday
