My Sunday

Waiting for six days, 
Comes my Sunday.
This twenty four hours
Stands like a tower.
On which I climb up
Leaving on the ground all stuff.
But at the last moment
When I have to sleep, 
I have nothing just to say
that where's my Sunday? 

Waiting for six days, 
Comes my Sunday.
But this time my school work
ruins my all day.
I work like a soldier, 
Fighting on the border.
And this CCE says that
'You are disorder, 
You'll not get A1.'
It leaves me in tension.
I ask, Out of Seven days, 
Can't I enjoy My SUNDAY?