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Sunday Morning

from in "Love" by The Jet Age

/

lyrics

Sunday morning, in bed with you.
I've got to go now, they'll be home soon.
There goes the phone again,
he wants to talk to you.
Sunday morning, in bed with you.

But we don't move;
we don't know what to do.
Paralyzed and in love with you;
what happens if I stay with you?

Well, it feels like I'm trapped in amber,
floating in your bluebell, honey, ever after.
Once more? Don't be such a tease.
Excuses make poor ruses,
they'll see right through me.

credits

from in "Love", released October 27, 2009
Greg Bennett: Bass
Pete Nuwayser: Drums
Eric Tischler: Stuff

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The Jet Age Washington, D.C.

Washington, DC's the Jet Age are a critically acclaimed power-trio about whom writers say things like, "[T]he Jet Age manages to mix the hyper jangle of the Wedding Present with the cruise-control melodies of Swervedriver and the heaven-scraping majesty of the Who circa 1970" (The Onion) and "a heart-pounding rocker … all of the riffs are stellar." (Pitchfork (8.0)) ... more

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