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