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