I breathe your calm, a quiet dream, Sunday morning, a lost day. By the time I came back home, a hidden world was in the curtains. Sunday morning, the veil of silence weaves, gentle and fragile, shyly touching you. I know it was never easy, but it still could have been... On Sunday morning, the veil of silence weaves, gently and fragilely touching you, as the room fills with the morning scent, freshly ground coffee, at the sound of the bell, which from afar quietly announces that life kindly gives us a new day and the warmth of home awaits delivery, while the world outside is waking up. Up on the highest floor, I wonder if love climbs that high looking down at that human role further and further. Where they do not see... They do not know... Where the highest floor is. Everyone... Everyone died on Sunday Morning. I know it was never easy, but it still could have been... On Sunday morning, the veil of silence weaves, gently and fragilely touching you, as the room fills with the morning scent, freshly ground coffee, at the sound of the bell. I know it was never easy, but still... I did not expect that it would be hard to love someone. I know it was never easy. But still... And I know it was never easy. But still... I did not expect it would be so hard... to love someone. Up on the highest floor, I wonder if love climbs that high looking down at that human role further and further. Where they do not see... They do not know... Where the highest floor is. Everyone... Everyone died on Sunday Morning. Everyone... Everyone died on Sunday Morning!
