Tekster: The Sundays. Medicine.

Dig down to the earth here outside
Lose my mind here any day now
Don?t be sad, we?re only half way there
Oh no, that?s what I call home

You remember the hills we slithered down
I?m not going anywhere you lied
Hell on my own, Hell here on my own

And don?t go imagining that time is medicine
Mark those days and swallow your pills
Proud of my wise head on young shoulders
Too bad there was nothing there at all

Hell on my own, hell here on my own

And it was such a really cold hand
I held as the wind sighed
And I?m not going and how could I lie?
Just be glad there?s no way back there

I need another look at before
Though Heaven knows how I?d ever
Make my way back there

And I need another look at before
Although Heaven knows how I?d ever
Make my way back there

Now I know it?s hopeless
And i realise it's nowhere
Hell here on my own