Bryan Gorsira Another Old Day
The lines keep blurring
Send me spinning on a Sunday afternoon
And the raindrops glisten drop and slide.
Wring out the madness
That keeps falling on my face
That misty reminder
Grab a drop and have a taste
Then lick the dust from the archives
And raise a cup of that splintered glass
Then feast on the madness
Of another old day, just like the last
And I’m face down, looking
Touched wet, can’t see, and I can’t move
Drowning in rain drop
On a Sunday afternoon.
So lick the dust from the archives
And raise a cup of that splintered glass
Then feast on the madness
Of another old day, just like that last
And I’m face down, looking
Touched wet, can’t see, and I can’t move
Drowning in rain drop
On a Sunday afternoon.
