I Don't Like Mondays How can two days be so different? How can Sunday be so meek? When Monday morning rears it's head, The beginning of the week? Sunday is a day for lazing, For lounging in bed all day, Or sitting still and people gazing, Or wandering to the park to play. Sunday is a day of rest, One last lie in before work, It's the day I love and treasure best, Knowing Monday's presence lurks. Watching a film on Sunday night, I become aware of the clock, The hands seem to move as fast as light, Monday's closer with each tick and tock. Lying in bed on a Monday Eve, I cannot get to sleep. For the weekend is over, I do believe, The thought makes me want to weep.
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