Sunday Mornings

Johnny brought his brand new car out, he had whatever he wanted,
he would stroll down the avenue, and all would say: «there's nothing Johnny
can’t do!
Such a bright young man with a future, can be whatever he wants now»
with his best girl by his side, he smiles, but late at night he sighs:
I sometimes cry on Sunday mornings, and I just stare at the wall
I might play dead, and no one will notice, and I cry, but then again.
Kathy was her mother’s pride, she had whatever she wanted,
she was tall and thin and bright and all would say: «whatever did Kathy do,
to deserve such a nasty treatment?» Her man would treat her like dirt and,
when she cried herself to sleep, she dreamed and whispered softly:
I sometimes cry on Sunday mornings, and I just stare at the floor
I might play dead, and no one will notice, and I try no more, but I.
Johnny drove his car that Sunday, he thought, that all that he wanted,
was someone to know his heart and know his dreams,
to help him see things straight
Kathy jumped right in front of his car and, she said,
«God, this favor I wanted, take me fast
don’t make me hurt», and as she died,
Johnny saw her smile.