Buona Domenica

Happy Sunday, spent at home waiting,
the phone doesn't ring anymore
and your boyfriend has taken off.
Happy Sunday, your mother doesn't understand,
she keeps saying 'Don't you ever go out?
Why don't you try to have fun?'
Happy Sunday, when you measure your room,
window, bed, and your radio
keep telling you it's Sunday.
Bye bye Sunday, spent crying over books,
you know he won't call on you
and tomorrow, who cares.
Bye bye happy Sunday, in front of the television,
with those idiots watching you
and keep playing.
Bye bye Sunday, and your sister talks and talks,
with that idiotic look, then
she opens the door on Sunday.
Bye bye Sunday, spent writing alone,
twenty minutes on a page
and you just can't stand yourself.
Bye bye Sunday, spent listening to records,
the less he looks for you, the more you think
and you call this love.
Bye bye Sunday, damn it never ends,
it's six o'clock, the sun is still out,
no one to call.
Bye bye Sunday, your boyfriend doesn't call you,
black sadness in your stomach,
and the urge to die in your head.
But don't die on Sunday, on this wasted day,
everything's fine, just look at the sun,
wait for another Sunday.