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 that time I never even noticed I was blue,

I must have kept on dragging through the business of the day

Without even 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've finished school.

A train back home again —

Undoubtedly I must have read the evening paper then.

Oh, yes, I'm sure my life was well within it's 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 did not 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 snuggled up for yet another night,

And rattling on the roof

I must have heard the sound of rain

The day before you came.

(A Song by ABBA)