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