“Monday I walked to your door,
    Tuesday we went out for tea,
      Wednesday I came to stay,
        Thursday found us happy,
          Friday saw the storm approach,
            Saturday ripped my heart open,
              Can someone help me to find Sunday?”

Every schoolboy dreams
Of those flying machines
And fighting in the war
And every schoolgirl's desire
To have her heart set on fire
By the man from nevermore

So here I am flying
And there you are crying
Did I set you aflame, did I burn you
Why are the teacups brown
Why did the romance drown
How, my darling, did I spurn you

The very subtle trash
And the apparent crash
That set you up in your fairytale
I'm not pleased to follow on
Where he will never be gone
Even with his memory now stale

But how ever can I
Be a Prince in your eye
When all you see is the beast of yore
And what is that too
That motivates you
To vainly keep the score

The mud that is pressed
Deep into your Sunday dress
Will not rinse or wash away
And my suit of tin
That is worn so very thin
Grows sharper every day …

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