SUNDAY IS NOT MY DAY

Charles AznavourCharles Aznavour 

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Charles Aznavour

Shahnour Vaghenag Aznavourian (Armenian: Շահնուր Վաղինակ Ազնավուրեան), better known by his stage name Charles Aznavour (French pronunciation: ​[ʃaʁ.l az.na'vuʁ]; born 22 May 1924) OC OQ is a French and Armenian singer, songwriter, actor, public activist and diplomat. Besides being one of France's most popular and enduring singers, he is also one of the best-known singers in the world. Aznavour is known for his unique tenor voice: clear and ringing in its upper reaches, with gravelly and profound low notes. He has appeared in more than sixty movies, composed about a thousand songs (including at least 150 in English, 100 in Italian, 70 in Spanish, and 50 in German), and sold well over 100 million records. more »

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Though the days of the week wear the same empty face
There's a day in the week I would like to replace
It's the Sunday, so smuggly pretending to be
Something more than a day that has nothing for me
I've reasons to say, Sunday's not my day

I'm harrassed by its crowds, how they passively file
An expressionless crowd with a time-wearied smile
Though I walk through its streets, my direction's unknown
Sunday's worthless to one who must spend it alone
It's always this way, Sunday's not my day

You must work this day Sunday, the one day I'm free
This is why Sunday seems so oppressive to me
If only you were near, you would open my eyes
I'd be ready to like all the things I despise

All the Sundays in spring, life in blue everywhere
All our cares taking wing, as we breath, as we dare
Lying there in the grass, watching children at play
Watching lovers who pass, like the wind on its way
The skies deep and blue, they would smile for you

We would dance through the streets, we would join this parade
We would do all the things, for which Sunday is made
Without trying to know what tomorrow will be
Having only one hope that together we'd see
Our Sunday again, Sunday back again

Of the people I see in their Sunday disguise
There are those who believe they are thoughtful and wise
Some are going to church for appearances sake
Some are willing to give half as much as they make
Some will sleep the whole day, having nowhere to go
Some will visit a grave, some will put on a show
Well rehearsed in their part, they will pass review
Some will make Sunday love to have something to do

Yet, I envy their joy
When their Sundays arrive, they frolic, they play
I'm less than alive, what more can I say?
Sunday's not my day

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