Looking through the news, still gives me the blues.
We need more time, I urge you to be patient.
It's hard to see what for,
for every fire opened you close another door,
And four years is a long, long time.

Gazing at your picture, you look just like you do on those funny green cards
I bite a laugh a little, too
Your mouth is opened wide; your hair is to the side
Your eyes are dull and blind, your mind's a trapped kind
But there's time, there's no quick punch line

Looking through my blues, sure gives me the news.
If all you need is love, then why collect such hatred?
Not hard to see what for
For every fire opened, you close another door
And four years is a long, long time
Two hundred eight Sunday papers
One thousand, four hundred, sixty one days

Hope has changed the picture, from black and white and red to a thousand greys instead.
His arms are opened wide, warm family by his side
His eyes are colour blind, still there's times a troubled kind
And our climb is in need of a lifeline

Looking through our list to-does, still an awful lot to choose
If I'm healing you, or me, let's see ourselves in one another
It's not hard to know what for
For every door you open, you fan the flames some more
And four years is not a long, long time
Two hundred eight Sunday papers
One thousand, four hundred, sixty one days, one thousand, four hundred, sixty one days...


Lyrics submitted by foreverjoelle

Sunday Paper song meanings
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