Sunday's Not My Day (Je hais les dimanches / English Version)

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, life in blue everywhere 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 thoughtful 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