The day grows old and gray with rain skies and the troubles keeping you likewise go to bed after television as outside the moon is turning crimson All alone on a Sunday "tomorrow`s no different" as you say sleep with a drink in your hand stick your head in the sand and sign it all away The tomb where the deadmen sleep reminds you that your time`s too short to grow remorseful you prick up your ears and find it disconcerting to hear the din of the boys in the chapel praying You`ve got a burden that`s sandbagging you but you can`t quite let it out it`s like a poison like a sickness that`s got you cryin` out (Koski)