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, and so I like to be in bed by then

I must have read a while

The latest one by Marilyn French, 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 light

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