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Well, 't was Sunday morning when we met, The streets were still empty and glistening wet, I said “How would you like To share my Sunday Times? The way to read a paper is over Somebody else's shoulder.” You said “Yes”, you said “Yes, I'd like to read the Times with you”, And we had tea and Times for two. We went through good times and bad Side by side and hand by hand With Times and Sundays flying by Like paper planes in the summer sky, And Sunday was my favorite day Until that Sunday you went away. Now you're gone and there's no one To talk about elections with And argue over sections with. It's Sunday morning, Sunday blues Got piles of old papers full of bad news And I won't get out of bed Until the sun has set. I've read the editorial, the weekend reviews But I can't get through all the rest of the news 'Cause now you're gone, now you're gone… I think of you between the lines And I can't get through the Sunday Times.