Miss You Sundays

It's just the force of Sunday habit
To call you on the phone
And ask you how you're doin'
Tell you how it's goin'
But you never ask for details
Don't seem to want to know
Guess that's why you said you had to go

You see I can't
get used to Sundays
And the sound of no one there
So I smoke and drink my coffee
And fidget in my chair
You know the summertime gets lonesome
Just like winter, spring and fall
Guess I miss you Sundays
most of all
Guess I miss you Sundays
most of all

Sunday boredom
makes me crazy
I'm sick and tired of bein' alone
So I head out on the blacktop
When I get the urge to roam
But I never seem to get far
'bout a hundred miles away
I head back home, and home is where I'll stay

You see I can't
get used to Sundays
and the sound of no one there
so I smoke and drink my whiskey
and smoke some more and stare
You know the summertime gets lonesome
Just like winter, spring and fall
Guess I miss you Sundays most of all

Well, y'see most days just aren't like this
And mostly I feel great
But Sunday's got a rhythm
Seems impossible to shake
And all my friends they tell me
That they're glad I'm doing fine
I'm just glad it's not Sunday all the time

Bryan Masters Music/ASCAP