The Day Before You Came

I must have left my house at eight because I always do
My train, I'm certain, left the station just when it was due
I must have read the morning paper going into town
And having gotten through the editorial, no doubt I must have frowned

I must have made my desk around a quarter after nine
With letters to be read and heaps of papers waiting to be signed
I must have gone to lunch at half past twelve or so; the usual place, the usual bunch
And still, on top of this, I'm pretty sure it must have rained

The day before you came

I must have lit my seventh cigarette at half past two
And at the time I never even noticed I was blue
I must have kept on dragging through the business of the day
Without really knowing anything I hid a part of me away

At five, I must have left; there's no exception to the rule
A matter of routine; I've done it ever since I finished school
The train back home again; undoubtedly I must have read the evening paper then
Oh yes, I'm sure my life was well within its usual frame

The day before you came

I must have opened my front door at eight o'clock or so
And stopped along the way to buy some Chinese food to go
I'm sure I had my dinner watching something on TV
There's not, I think, a single episode of Dallas that I didn't see

I must have gone to bed around a quarter after ten
I need a lot of sleep, so I like to be in bed by then
I must have read a while; the latest one by Barbara Cartland, or something in that style
It's funny but I had no sense of living without aim

The day before you came

And turning out the lights, I must have yawned and cuddled up for yet another night
And rattling on the roof, I must have heard the sound of rain

The day before you came