Everyday Is Like Sunday

Everyday Is Like Sunday
Trudging slowly over wet sand
Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
This is the coastal town that they forgot to close down
Armageddon, come Armageddon, come, Armageddon, come

Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and gray
Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard
How I dearly wish I was not here
In the seaside town that they forgot to bomb
Come, come, come, nuclear bomb
Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey
Trudging back over pebbles and sand
And a strange dust lands on your hands
And on your face, on your face
On your face, on your face
Everyday is like Sunday
Win yourself a cheap tray
Share some greased tea with me
Everyday is silent and gray
En la cautivadora canción 'Everyday Is Like Sunday' de Morrissey, somos llevados a un ambiente melancólico y nostálgico. La imagen del narrador caminando lentamente sobre la arena mojada de la costa, regresando al banco donde le robaron la ropa, nos sumerge en un sentir de abandono y desolación...