This is a song about watching someone who's already unreachable. The amber imagery locks the boy in place like a fossil, while the speaker shifts between observing him and speaking to him. By the second verse, the physics of light change but the isolation doesn't.
Boy in amber on the stairs / Sunday light through his hair
Amber preserves things dead. The boy is stuck mid-motion on the stairs, caught in light that makes him look suspended in time. The speaker might not realize they're describing a memory that can't move forward.
Sunday light (Sunday light) / All alone tonight
Sunday light gets repeated like a mantra, almost protective. But the refrain ends with solitude at night, when that light is gone. The thing that should illuminate actually marks when you're by yourself.
Boy with amber in his hair / Morning light through the stairs
The relationship to amber shifts from containment to possession. Light that moved through his hair now moves through the stairs. The boy and the architecture swap positions, like the speaker can't stabilize what they're actually looking at.
When you cry to the moon / Don't get lost
The moon is addressed but never answers. It's purely receptive, no light bounces back despite this being a song about light. The warning not to get lost might come too late, or the speaker might be talking to themselves.
Press your handprints to the wall / Deep and down
Handprints are evidence someone was here. Pressing them deep suggests trying to leave a permanent mark, but 'down' adds weight instead of reach. This feels like surrender dressed as contact.
The speaker insists on present-tense observation while describing something already fossilized. Amber, shadows, handprints pressed into walls. They're mourning someone they can still see but can't touch, or maybe mourning the version of that person the light used to show them. By the end, nobody has moved.