Are leaving on a Monday?
Have you made up your mind?
Is there anything left
That I can do to give me more time?
I’ve heard the old story,
It’s not something I said
If I didn’t say anything at all.
In the darkness I can see your form
As you lie there asleep.
Something’s wrong with this picture—
You resting peacefully,
I, in this heat.
I never suspected
That you were a calendar girl.
Six days of the week
I’m working to please you.
But when we’re alone
You’re just making plans.
The pencil and that faded old notebook
Have taken away what has made me a man.
Was it Tuesday, was it Wednesday?
Am I wasting my time?
And how much does it matter,
As this thing ages, it still isn’t wine?
I still hope though, anxiously,
You can find in your heart
One more reason to give me another chance.
Sunday evening, and I lie awake.
Seems there’s no use in sleeping.
Heard the sound of the door behind you,
Now all I hear is the sound of you leaving.
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