Why am I always sad on Sundays?
The hollow hunger of something exciting
The dull weight of the hour turns into a day
And before I know it my day is away
Time, my eternal foe, sits on the couch on the bed in my room
Watching me endlessly, but does it know I'm there?
Does it know I am asking for it to stop, for one minute?
For one second?
You watch me but do you know I'm there?
You hear me but do you care?
Sundays, like a needy lover
Creep into my room at night, and sneak out the next
How I wish for a Saturday to last, and loathe the numbing Sunday blast