Monday night, she's drinkin'.
Tuesday night, she's stoned.
Wednesday night she decides,
to spend her night alone...
But Thursday morning is blurry,
and no name's walking to the door.
Fridays never come soon enough,
but never leave in time,
Saturday is just a way
to finish up yesterday's wine.
When Sunday morning comes, she begins again,
a whirlwind at her feet.
She wears a dress of loneliness,
which is tossed inside the breeze.
She takes her rounds on the bars ,
and the doors close behind her.
Her walk and her talk make married men gawk,
the rest follow close behind her.
The choices she makes, always seem wrong,
but that's the way life goes.
It is hard to choose a better way,
when this is what she knows.
She waits around not knowing,
that the journey starts with her,
she'll take a step that begins her trek,
her only finish is when she's through.
'Cause on Monday night she's singing,
Tuesday night she'll dance.
Wednesday night and Thursday mornin' are just another chance.
Then Friday came, and she was laughin'.
Saturday gave her another grin.
When Sunday mornin' finally came,
her life could now begin.
She left the rush and whirlwind,
her lonely dress was gone...
Instead, she wore a gown of Grace,
and stood in a steady calm.
© 2009 J.M. Zakrzewski
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