Phoebe Snow It Must Be Sunday
And I watched the world surround me >From inside a phone booth And it began to astound me I tried to keep my couth I said it must be Sunday 'Cause ev'rybody's tellin' the truth And then again it might be Monday Yeah it might be Monday 'Cause ev'rybody's drinkin' vermouth She lent her hand At the kissing stand But she gave 'em away for free With an acid joke and a box of smoke She can barely see She drives her bus at dusk With headlights off And headphones up And for tomorrow She has planned a shopping spree There's a man who loved so hard He was like a billboard grin He toasted life and beauty 'Til his head began to spin He pressed his cheek On rainwashed streets And he wept into his gin Reincarnation And he came back as himself again December thirty-first Is the very worst time of the year You got to think of people That you like enough To share your beer Just when you're having fun It's January one And you wait for explanations To appear
