Black Sunday Afternoon - Anna Ternheim

On the black Sunday afternoon

Sun is pale like the moon

When you look to the sky

Holy holy why

All fades into blue

On the black Sunday afternoon

No good time to walk alone

On a bike riding home

When you look to the sky

Holy holy why

All fades into blue

On the black Sunday afternoon

Bad luck come at just a car

On the right side hears a call

And sees a black ref flying low

Bother head no mistletoe

Nothing really moves

On black Sunday afternoons

You wake up in a water-bed

and on the back of your head

A lump and just a tiny hole

Almost no light at all in here

When you call

You can’t hear your own voice at all

They gather up, something’s wrong

The ask around, no one knows

Well have you been where the rivers cross

By the water in the moss

Nothing really moves

On black Sunday afternoons

Sun is pale like the moon

When you look to the sky

Holy holy, holy holy why

All fades into blue

On black Sunday afternoons