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