You get by on the weekday
To get high on the weekend
Just to hide away on Sunday
And to cry when once more Monday comes again
And you feel
This one might just be the one that you can't seem to get through
But somehow you find a way to
You ain't got time for your Mother
Ain't got time for your Father
Say you'll call by another day
But unexpectedly they both depart you
And now you've got all the time in the world
You say "I'll work it out another day"
So for now
You remain
Searching bottoms of wine bottles for a way
To get by
Your evenings are for fearing
What the morning will be bringing
Drinking just in the hope that the fat lady will start singing
But the day that you dread
Is here and now you've got your suit laid out on the bed
"I know it's too late
For setting straight
Mistakes I've made
I just came to say
I'll work it out
Address the pain
But without
The usual way
Of searching bottoms of wine bottles for a way
To get by"
