Sunday Times

Well, it was Sunday morning when we met,

The streets were still empty and glistening wet,

I said "How would you like

To share my Sunday Times?

The way to read a paper is over

Somebody else's shoulder."

You said "Yes", you said "Yes,

I'd like to read the Times with you",

And we had tea and Times for two.

We went through good times and bad

Side by side and hand by hand

With Times and Sundays flying by

Like paper planes in the summer sky,

And Sunday was my favorite day

Until that Sunday you went away.

Now you're gone and there's no one

To talk about elections with

And argue over sections with.

It's Sunday morning, Sunday blues

Got piles of old papers full of bad news

And I won't get out of bed

Until the sun has set.

I've read the editorials, the weekend reviews

But I can't get through all the rest of the news

'Cause now you're gone, now you're gone...

I think of you between the lines

And I can't get through the Sunday Times.