Текст песни Sunday Mornings (Damhnait Doyle) с переводом

Sunday mornings just don’t seem the same 'round here

I just sit and stare

I had hoped and prayed that somehow somewhere

Close to me you’d stay

I could shout about the pain but what’s the sense

There’s no one left to blame

Keep all your fortunes, your fame and your glory

Give me a place that I can call home

Save your tomorrows, it’s the same old story

Just give me a place that I can call home

I count the steps in the hall one more time

They’re the same as before

I would gladly trade this all for your smile

To see you walk through that door

I could shout about the pain but who would hear

Christ it’s driving me insane

Keep all your fortunes, your fame and your flory

Give me a place that I can call home

Save your tomorrows, it’s the same old story

Just give me a place that I can call home

And all you want and all you need

That’s crushed and broken beneath your feet

When your skin’s unbroken but you still bleed

There’s no counting the things you still need

Keep all your fortunes, your fame and your glory

Give me a place that I can call home

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