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lyrics

Monday she comes rolling 'round, she can't get on her feet
She's bent out of shape and full of sour grapes
She's just too sick to eat
Tuesday she comes round the bend and crashes on my floor
She never knocks and hardly talks when she comes through my front door

It's like a Sunday morning headache
When I look into her eyes
It's like a Sunday morning headache
Without the Saturday night highs

Wednesday she just doesn't call and woke pick up the phone
It's not that I want to talk but she can't be left alone
Thursday comes and Thursday goes and still I have no clue
Where she's gone, what she's pawned, and if what she'll say is true

It's like a Sunday morning headache
When I look into her eyes
It's like a Sunday morning headache
Without the Saturday night highs

Every night, baby, another night and maybe
But tonight, baby, I don't know nothin', but I know better

Friday she has lost her mind - it's nowhere in sight
Blind as a drunk bat high on cocaine, baby
No one warned me 'bout that
Saturday she finds her way, alone when I'm not around
She tells herself she's better off and she heads back out on the town

It's like a Sunday morning headache
When I look into her eyes
It's like a Sunday morning headache
Without the Saturday night highs

Every night, baby, another night and maybe
But tonight, baby, I don't know nothin', but I know better

credits

from Radio Silence, released August 20, 2017

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Dylan Rysstad Victoria, British Columbia

Victoria, BC.

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