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Sunday's Pretty Icons

There is no hole in which to hide

There is no plane to catch

No hope, tell them that's warm enough

No rent to a room that's quietA friend, I've known through six degrees

Cools down to where I hide

A friend, I've known through dreams and prayers

She comes back to my sideYou're so far from wanting to talk

You're so far from wanting to say something good

Feel something goodThe sea cries of loves of girls

The sea cries of boys

The storm, we are the both of us

Too close to ever loveWhiskey from the Island of Sund

Whiskey from the year you were born

Tastes like kidnap and ransom and exileSomebody asked me what hell was like

Somebody asked me for help

Somebody asked me what hell was like

Lunging and happening, parting of soulsEvery girl you ever admired

Every boy you ever desired

Every love you ever forgot

Every person that you despised is forgiven

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