Everyday is like Sunday.
Somehow the week began,
Monday drew in for another go,
To let the pain and misery flow,
Much more of the life I'd know.
Tuesday was a flight of fancy,
Where my imagination ran riot,
No chance my thoughts be quiet,
Boredom came like the daily diet.
Wednesday blew the wind of hope,
Somehow, somewhere I'd barely cope,
Lost in the darkness where I'd grope,
Nearly driven to ending it on the rope.
Thursday felt a little brighter,
Where a woman showed me how to kiss,
Some passion that returned, I had missed,
Under the haze of days when pissed.
Friday brought a wind of change,
My eyes were open no more deranged,
I held a chance, a life rearranged,
And all my fears gone, nothing strange.
Saturday would end the lie,
Take me to task and make me cry,
Build me up to understand how high,
This love could come to show me why.
Sunday is the paradise,
The land of milk and honey, mine,
A chance to know the real sublime,
The day to reason out the rhyme.
So in essence of love,
Each day is to me the same,
None more than me to take the blame,
Where Sunday graced me with her name...
Steven Patrick Morrissey (born 22 May 1959)
A video from the 80's