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At eight o'clock we said goodbye
|
That's when I left her house for mine
|
She said that she'd be staying in
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Well, she had to be at work by nine
|
|
So I get home and have a bath
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And left an hour or two pass
|
Drifting in front of my TV
|
When a film comes on that she wants to see
|
|
It's Monday morning 5. 19
|
And I'm still wondering where she's been
|
Cause every time I try to call
|
I just get her machine
|
And now it's almost 6 a.m.
|
And I don't want to try again
|
|
Cause if she's still not back
|
And then this must be the end
|
|
At first I guess she's gone to Cannes
|
Her silver pack of cigarettes
|
A pint of milk, food for the cat
|
But it's midnight now and she's still not back
|
|
Cause if she's still not back
|
Well, heaven knows what then
|
Is this the end
|
|
At half past two I picture her
|
In the back of someone else's car
|
He runs his fingers through her hair
|
Oh, you shouldn't left him touch you there
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Monday morning five nineteen
|
| Rialto |
