From 1971. English lyrics by Robert Morrison. The original song in French, \"Je Hais Les Dimanches\" was written by Charles Aznavour with music by Florence Véran.
Though the days of the week wear the same empty face
There's a day in the week I would like to replace
It's the Sunday, so smuggly pretending to be
Something more than a day that has nothing for me
I've reasons to say, Sunday's not my day
Harrassed by its crowds, how they pass and defile
An expressionless crowd with a time-wearied smile
Though I walk through its streets, my direction's unknown
Sunday's worthless to one who must spend it alone
It's always this way, Sunday's not my day
You must work this day Sunday, the one day I'm free
This is why Sunday seems so oppressive to me
If only you were near, you would open my eyes
I'd be ready to like all the things I despise
All the Sundays in Spring, light and blue there we were
All our cares taking wing, as we breath, as we dare
Lying there in the grass, watching children at play
Watching lovers who pass, like the wind on its way
The skies deep and blue, they would smile for you
We would dance through the streets, we would join this parade
We would do all the things, for which Sunday is made
Without trying to know what tomorrow will be
Having only one hope that together we'd see
Our Sunday again, Sunday back again
Of the people I see, in their Sunday disguise
There are those who believe they are hopeful and wise
Some are going to church, for appearances' sake
Some are willing to give half as much as they make
Some will sleep the whole day, having nowhere to go
Some will visit a grave, some will put on a show,
Well rehearsed in their part, they will pass review
Some will make Sunday love, to have something to do
Yet, I envy their joy
When their Sundays arrive, they frolic, they play
I'm less than alive, what more can I say
Sunday's not my day
