SUNDAY, SUNDAY Lyrics

What can I do, standing alone

Have one more drink, or maybe go home

Talk to the girls, so happy, so gay

Go back to my room, so dreary, so grey

Rain-sodden streets, a cold moonlit night

A present so bleak, a future not bright

Please throw a line to this prophet of doom

I'm drowning in a sea of neon-lit gloom

Who can I turn to when feeling this way

My mind's in a whirl and it lasts the whole day

I need to escape from my own company

The world is a prison, my life, solitary

On Sunday, Sunday

There's no day of rest for a mind full of thoughts

Rain won't stop play for a thinking man's sports

I can't turn my back on the kind that I am

My head is in the clouds but my feet are on the ground

Maybe I'm changing, I'm growing too old

For life in the fast lane, my feet have gone cold

I must turn and flee from the world as it stands

Christ, can't you hear the pleas of this man

On Sunday, Sunday

I know nothing at all, of effect or of cause

Can I please call a halt

I have something to say to you all

And I don't wish to brood anymore

Maybe I'm changing, I'm growing too old

For life in the fast lane, my feet have gone cold

I must turn and flee from the world as it stands

Christ, can't you hear the pleas of this man

On Sunday, Sunday