Saturday rushed into Sunday
And we rushed to the sea
We caught the salty breezes there
And felt ourselves so free
We loved the sun, we happy pair
And so surely we would be
When Saturday turned to Sunday
a-turnin’ to the sea.
But Sunday fades to Monday
With places we must be
So on the beach we sit and mull
Upon this malady
That, alas, our joy is not so full
And not so fancy-free
And so we sit and waste the day
a-fearin’ the sun will flee
We did not hear the laughing gull
Who knows not day from day
He worries little about the date
Or average weekly pay
He cares not at all about being late
Only scraps at the cafe
And though we think him dirty or dull
Isn’t he better than we
For avoiding our working days?
