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