The Day Off

Taking the day on Sunday

After the dreary week is dead

Getting away on Sunday

Brightens the dreary week ahead

Everyone's on display on Sunday

The day off

Bonnet flapping, bustle sliding

Like a rocking horse that nobody's been riding

There's a daisy and some clover

And that interesting fellow looking over

Nurse!

One day's much like any other

Listening to her snap and drone

Steal Sunday with someone's dirty mother

Is better than Sunday with your own

Mothers may drone, mothers may whine

Tending to his though it's perfectly fine

It pays for the nurse that is tending to mine

On Sunday

My day off

You know what? I believe that artist is drawing us

Mister's friend

Mister would never think to draw us

We are the only people he looks down upon

Second bottle

As she looks for me

He is bursting to gold

Needs a fountain, I could let him

How too many cheat, no

I should've been an artist

I was never intended for work

Oh, artists work, Franz

I believe they work very hard

Work? We work

We tend our food, we carve the meat

We tend to their horse, we punish their cheap affairs

The food we serve, the oils I eat

For them we rush, box and crush, vipe and vex

Hands relax

While he creates, we scrape their plates

Would dust their knick-knacks a hundreds to the shelf

Work is what you do for others

Art is what you do for yourself

Look, where? Soldiers, alone

What did I tell you?

They will never talk to us if we fish

It's a beautiful day for fishing

What do you think?

I like the one in the light hat

Mademoiselle, I and my friend

We are but soldiers

Passing the time

In between wars for weeks at no end

Both of them are perfect

You can have the other, I don't want the other

I don't want the other either

And after a week spent mostly indoors with nothing but soldiers

Ladies, I and my friend trust we will not offend

Which we'd never intend

By suggesting we spend, oh spend

This magnificent Sunday, oh, Sunday

With you and your friend

The one on the right's an awful bore

He's been in a war

We make it a meal and we might get more

It's certainly fine for Sunday

It's certainly fine for Sunday

It's certainly fine for Sunday

You and me, pal, we're the loonies

Did you know that, that you didn't know that?

Of course we tell them the truth

Who are you drawing?

Who the hell you think are drawing? Me?

You don't know me

Go on drawing

Since you're drawing

Only what you want to see anyway

One I know illusion that you get with two

One for what is true, one for what suits you

Draw your wrong conclusion, all you artists do

I see what is true

Sitting there looking everyone up and down

Studying every move like you see something different

Like your eyes know more

You and me, pal, we're society's fault

Taking the day on Sunday

After another week is dead

Getting away on Sunday

Brightens the dreary week ahead

Leave the sunny pressure behind you

Off to where the air is fresher

Where green, blue, blind you