The Day Off

Taking the day on Sunday
After the dreary week is dead
Getting away on Sunday
Brightens the dreary week ahead
Everyone's on display on Sunday

The day off

Bonnet flapping
Bustle sliding
Like a rocking horse that nobody's been riding
There's a daisy
And some clover
And that interesting fellow looking over

Nurse!

One day is much like any other
Listening to her snap and drone

Still, Sunday with someone's dotty mother
Is better than Sunday with your own

Mothers may drone, mothers may whine
Tending to his, though, is perfectly fine
It pays for the nurse that is tending to mine
On Sunday
My day off

You know, Franz, I believe that artist is drawing us

Huh? Who?

Monsieur's friend

Monsieur would never think to draw us We are only people he looks down upon

Second bottle

Ah, she looks for me

He is bursting to go

Near the fountain

I could let him

How to manage it?

No

I should have been an artist I was never intended for work

Oh, artists work, Franz I believe they work very hard

Work? We work

We serve their food
We carve their meat
We tend to their house
We polish their
Silverware

The food we serve
We also eat

For them we rush
Wash and brush
Wipe and wax

Franz, relax

While he "creates"
We scrape their plates
We dust their knickknacks
Hundreds to the shelf
Work is what you do for others
Liebchen
Art is what you do for yourself

Look

Where?

Soldiers

Alone

What did I tell you?

Well, they'll never talk to us if we fish Why don't

It's a beautiful day for fishing

What do you think? I like the one in the light hat

Mademoiselles
I and my friend
We are but soldiers

Passing the time
In between wars
For weeks at an end

Both of them are perfect

You can have the other

I don't want the other

I don't want the other either

And after a week
Spent mostly indoors
With nothing but soldiers
Ladies, I and my friend
Trust we will not offend
Which we'd never intend
By suggesting we spend

Oh, spend

This magnificent Sunday

Oh, Sunday

With you and your friend

The one on the right's an awful bore

He's been in a war

We may get a meal and we might get more

It's certainly fine for Sunday
It's certainly fine for Sunday

It's certainly fine for Sunday

You and me, pal
We're the loonies
Did you know that?
Bet you didn't know that

'Cause we tell them the truth

Who you drawing?
Who the hell you think you're drawing?
Me?
You don't know me
Go on drawing
Since you're drawing only what you wanna see
Anyway

One eye, no illusion
That you get with two
One for what is true
One for what suits you
Draw your own conclusion
All you artists do
I see what is true

Sitting there, looking everyone up and down
Studying every move like you see something different, like your eyes know more

You and me, pal
We're society's fault

Taking the day on Sunday
After another week is dead

Nurse!

Getting away on Sunday
Brightens the dreary week ahead

Nurse!

Leaving the city pressure
Behind you
Off where the air is fresher
Where green, blue
Blind you