One year like any old other year in a week like any week Monday lying down, half asleep People doing what people do, loving, working and getting through No portraits on the walls of Seventh Avenue
Then Tuesday came and went like a helicopter overhead The letter that she left, cold addressed in red Tuesday came and went one, one September when Will she come again?
The thing about memories they're sure and bound to fade Except for the stolen souls, left upon her blade Is Monday coming back? Well, that's what Mondays do They turn and turn around afraid to see it through
Tuesday came and went like a helicopter overhead The letter that she left, cold addressed in red Tuesday came and went one, one September when Will she come again?
Tuesday came and went one, one September when Cold and dressed in red, how could I forget? Tuesday came and went like a helicopter overhead Will she come again?