On Sunday

You should take a walk

But it's just the same wherever you go

You just wish the ghost was gone

So you make some calls

But it's talking while you're wanting to go

You're just ringing phones; for fun

You can always make a new excuse to cry

But you don't have to use it on yourself

So why spend your sadness now

Save it up for me, on Sunday

And why is lonely all you have

When love is what you'll find on Sunday

You might guard your heart

But it's awfully fun to have it broken

Or at least to leave a bruise

It becomes an art

Though the rules of which are rarely spoken

By the lucky ones who can choose

So your pain becomes another souvenir

And your souvenirs become your world

So why spend your sadness now

Save it up for me on Sunday

And why is lonely all you have

When love is what you'll find on Sunday

Why spend your sadness now

Save it up for me on Sunday

And why is lonely all you have

When love is what you'll find on Sunday