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