Sundays I think of you
Mondays I never try to
You take me whole
sweet poison
then seduces me

You claim that you can feel
Yet through you
But our hearts get colder
Friendships wither in your shade

Better I stay silent
for your anger it’s a storm
that waits for any word
when we are alone

You wrap me into gentle words
invite me to your side
Whisper grievances into the world
and those who cross your path

But in the crowd you leave me naked
my faults displayed for all
Later when I seek your gaze
there is nothing

Just your holy silence
Big saint of labor
Mighty of the wage
still Sunday I must think of you

Monday I never try to
Because Mondays you're supreme
One Monday there will be the one
when you will wait for me in vain