| Come Monday night, the day of work is done
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| Tuesday morning looms, the grey of ordinariness
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| Start by putting off your chores
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| And all the crushing bores
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| Say your morning prayers
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| Sing a rousing song
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| Then sing it on the long walk home
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| Come Monday night we’re in a state of grace
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| Twenty-million boys are caught up in a paper chase
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| If the weekend promised much
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| Then it failed to touch
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| On a single count what I was hoping for
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| What I was hoping for
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| Come Monday night we turn the telly off
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| To listen to the silence
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| Light that comes in from outside
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| If you could catch it all
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| And pin it to your wall
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| Then you would sleep much better
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| Baby you would sleep much better
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| Maybe you would sleep much better
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| Baby you would sleep much better
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| Maybe you would sleep much better
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| Baby you would sleep much better
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| Maybe you would sleep much better
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| Baby you would sleep much better
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| Maybe you would sleep much better
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| Baby you would sleep much better
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| Maybe you would sleep much better |