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