Sunday's Not My Day - Charles Aznavour Though the days of the week wear the same empty face
There's a day in the week I would like to replace It's the Sunday so smuggly pretending to be Something more than a day that has nothing for me
I've reasons to say Sunday's not my day
Harrassed by its crowds how they pass and defile An expressionless crowd with a time-wearied smile Though I walk through its streets my direction's unknown Sunday's worthless to one who must spend it alone It's always this way Sunday's not my day
You must work this day Sunday the one day I'm free
This is why Sunday seems so oppressive to me
If only you were near you would open my eyes
I'd be ready to like all the things I despise
All the Sundays in Spring light and blue there we were All our cares taking wing as we breath as we dare Lying there in the grass watching children at play Watching lovers who pass like the wind on its way
The skies deep and blue they would smile for you
We would dance through the streets we would join this parade We would do all the things for which Sunday is made Without trying to know what tomorrow will be Having only one hope that together we'd see
Our Sunday again Sunday back again
Of the people I see in their Sunday disguise There are those who believe they are hopeful and wise Some are going to church for appearances' sake Some are willing to give half as much as they make Some will sleep the whole day having nowhere to go Some will visit a grave some will put on a show Well rehearsed in their part they will pass review Some will make Sunday love to have something to do
Yet I envy their joy
When their Sundays arrive they frolic they play I'm less than alive what more can I say
Sunday's not my day
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Of the people I see in their Sunday disguise There are those who believe they are hopeful and wise Some are going to church for appearances' sake Some are willing to give half as much as they make Some will sleep the whole day having nowhere to go