Dan Tindall: Music

• MP3 play whole song, hi-fi (broadband)
• MP3 play whole song, lo-fi (modem)

It's bleak and blank and strange
And blasted through the day
Then locked and put away
So nobody can say
That you might have a heart
Or you might have a soul
Nobody knows
Exactly how you feel

This is not a warning
I just want to end the game
'Cause every Sunday morning
It's the same old story

Yes every Sunday morning without fail
You slam the door and break the Holy Grail
And use the broken pieces as a knife
To cut me up post-mortem
And dissect my every moment

Every Sunday morning it's the same
Time to try and wake me up
And make me take the blame

It's hideous but true
For you and all your crew
The sinners and the saints
Who daub themselves with paints
So you might be at peace
And dance upon the grave
Of everyone you hate
Indeed of anyone who's late

This is not a warning
I just want to end the game
'Cause every Sunday morning
It's the same old story

Yes every Sunday morning without fail
You open up your eyes and rip the veil
Wrap it round my neck to set me free
Poke out both my eyes
And send them spinning to the skies

Every Sunday morning it's the same
Time to try and wake me up
And make me take the blame