Sundays for me, are the top edge of
A skyscraper, that I dare to tiptoe
Off of and come rushing down its
Heights,
Like those pennies they say can put
A hole in your head if it hits you.
I don't wanna be the hole in your head.
I wanna be the dent in the concrete,
On Sundays.
On Sundays, I wanna be the one that
Sleeps under bridges in a careless
City because on Sundays I am just
As careless and this is all too much for
Me. On Sundays,
I throw in the towel because the
Last match of the week has left me
Weak
And I am not Cassius Clay.
I am more like the Sunday papers,
Crumpled up and expected to recycle
Myself.
And after being reduced to nothing week
After week, Sundays feel like death.