Not All Days Are Sundays

Stuck on a cold platform
The train's running late
Why's it always happen to me
This question I contemplate
There's some things in life
I could really get to hate
For not all days are Sundays
And that's not up for debate

It's all rush, rush, rush, rush
From break of day till night
No peace or opportunity
To escape from this plight
I question how long my sanity
Will remain watertight
For not all days are Sundays
Damn, ain't that right!

Then I read a blog post
From a chap that's a hero of mine
With this curious title
Telling me it's not always just fine
And I'd do well to remember this
From time to time
For not all days are Sundays
And not everything will rhyme

So when does life get easier
It's a rhetorical question, you know
But I still want an answer
So I can learn, and change and grow
But where ever the path leads me
I will try and follow
For not all days are Sundays
Caught in the endless ebb and flow