| Oh dear, take what you've been given | |
| And give back to me | |
| Oh night, don't waste your time with that' | |
| Cause it may never come | |
| But she goes down wrapped up in the armies | |
| Of a love she's found | |
| She won't hide, love is | |
| Sunday mornings | |
| When the paper writes | |
| Here and there, silently you're waiting | |
| For what never comes | |
| Oh dear, don't waste your time alone' | |
| Cause it may never come | |
| But she goes down wrapped up in the armies | |
| Of a love she's found | |
| She won't hide, love is | |
| Sunday mornings | |
| When the paper cries | |
| Oh dear, don't waste your time with that' | |
| Cause it may never come | |
| But she goes down wrapped up in the armies | |
| Of a love she's found | |
| She won't hide, love is | |
| Sunday mornings | |
| And the paper shines | |
| She goes down, she goes down | |
| She goes down, she goes down |