Make me reflective, make me introspective.
Ignore the violence and explain my silence.
'Cause its never too late to fill me with hate.
So pull away the wool and make me look cool.
And she looks best, Sunday mornings, coming down.
So what will I achieve and who should I believe?
I let her slip, it's a tense grip.
My drugged up kiss, it's a hit, it's a miss.
And it's hard to conceal the way I feel.
And she looks best, Sunday mornings, coming down.
It seems the sunlight makes her darker, excites her hair.

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Aidan Moffat, Malcolm Middleton