| She took a rolled up twenty
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| Out of her pocket
|
| And paid for my cigarrettes
|
| We were friends at first sight
|
| In the 7−11 light
|
| She said, «Here, lemme cover it»
|
| And I rode shotgun all that night
|
| She drove, and never made a sound
|
| I asked if there was anything wrong
|
| She said, «Nothin'worth talkin''bout»
|
| It’s a blue Sunday
|
| Down the interstate
|
| Yeah a blue Sunday
|
| Blue, with shades of grey
|
| Her backseat could’ve been a hotel
|
| I slept for a thousand years
|
| Every now and then she’d laugh out loud for no reason
|
| I pretended not to hear
|
| And rolled my jacket up under my head
|
| And stretched my body out
|
| Couldn’t be too far in front of her daddy’s blood hounds
|
| But I ain’t gonna worry now
|
| It’s a blue Sunday
|
| Down the interstate
|
| Yeah a blue Sunday
|
| Blue, with shades of grey
|
| A blue Sunday
|
| We never met before
|
| It’s a blue Sunday
|
| When it’s time to leave you go |