Sundays always stay longer
What takes them so long to leave?
I wonder why they are so dark
I wonder why they’re so bleak
Like a boring conversation
That I carry on my back
It keeps dragging on and on
I just want it to be done
Nothing to watch, nothing to see
This is the end of every week
It gets worse as I get older
I want to poke it with a stick
Do something for a change
Do something just for once
I am bored out of my mind
My misery is acting up
The dust on the table gets thicker
And my urge to live gets stronger
But every week I get weaker
Every Sunday lasts longer
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