Monday morning
I was walking back home and I had to cross the park
And as the day came up, we began to see the silhouettes
The silhouettes moving as if they meant to vanish
And they were men's, the silhouettes
Brave into the new day coming, and they were men's
(And they were men's, and they were men's)
Jackets on the floor and wet grass
Grass full of fresh dew for this new day to come
A new Monday, new promises for new Mondays
In one hour the city will be running and cycling
And also driving
Through the grey and heavy or strong polluted air
While in the park, at the same time
The grass will be trampled on again
By twenty or thirty young men
Grabbing their hands and their fingers
Some were lying, some were standing
As do those who have to hide, behind the trees
The summer trees, the bushes or a wooden bench
A pillow for this sweet moment
Two of them were the youngest
They didn't move, trying not to be seen but too late I guess
I overtake them still walking home, so tired was I today
After the best night I ever had in my life, for your birthday
At my right, two sweet boys
Standing quietly and silently making love
As do those who have to hide, fast and too much
Working, working, working, working, working, working
Working, working, working, working, working, working
Working, working, working, working, working, working
Working, working, working, working, working, working
Working, working, working, working, working, working
Working, working, working, working, working, working
