Well they used to call him Zero cause he never made his mark
And when he took up with a tramp like her, all the people laughed
Fate just seemed to find them on a one way losing streak
Between the two they lived their lives trapped on a dead end street
Well a man gets tired of zero and a woman hates that scorn
And if time allowed they'd make those fools wish they were never born
Oh how come it feels like Sunday each day of your life
Some of us have to make a name before we're satisfied
Oh and how come it feels like Monday seven days a week
Work your fingers to the bone just to make ends meet
Well the bank job wasn't easy, no, they'd left a couple dead
Oh how come it feels like Sunday each day of your life
Some of us have to make a name before we're satisfied
Oh and how come it feels like Monday seven days a week
Work your fingers to the bone just to make ends meet
Sometimes the nights get colder and the dreams can chill your bones
Oh how come it feels like Sunday each day of your life
Some of us have to make a name before we're satisfied
Oh and how come it feels like Monday seven days a week
Work your fingers to the bone just to make ends meet