This is a song about watching someone slip out of focus while you're trying to hold them still. The boy keeps changing positions — in amber, with amber, on stairs, through stairs — because the memory is degrading in real time. By the second verse, the speaker can't even stabilize where the light is coming from anymore.
Boy in amber on the stairs / Sunday light through his hair
Amber preserves things perfectly, but here it traps the boy mid-motion on a staircase. The image suggests he's frozen but also unreachable, caught in a moment the speaker can see but can't touch.
Boy with amber in his hair / Morning light through the stairs
The positions reverse. Now the amber is in his hair, and the light goes through the stairs instead of through him. The speaker is scrambling to rebuild the same image and failing. Memory doesn't hold.
When you cry to the moon / Don't get lost
The command comes too late. Everything in this song is already lost — the light moving through solid objects, shadows going deep into walls, the boy shifting between verses. The speaker warns against something that's already happened.
Sunday light / All alone tonight
Sunday light is morning light, but the speaker is alone at night. The only stable thing left is the name of the light itself. The boy, the room, the heroes on the wall — all of it has blurred except for that one anchoring phrase.
The speaker thinks they're describing a boy in a room, but what they're actually describing is the moment they realize they can't hold the image anymore. Sunday light is all that's left when everything else — the boy, the stairs, the shadow — refuses to stay in one place.