With a look she gave me the permission to kill her boredom
I was somewhere outside the planet, alone in deep off-side
In a blink we were deep in conversation about the sweet wine of youth
It turned out that we spilled far more than we drank
She played the same old movie, just in her own director's cut
Oh, where were you in previous Aprils, while I was still fresher
She bored me to death with India, rattled like a wooden slipper1
Everything was legal until the dawn burst in through the window
Another Tuesday, no, I can't take it
That day is bad luck, isn't it enough that it's autumn?
I hate Tuesdays - full stop
Another Tuesday sways like a lily
She said, formally, "How can I go with you when you're drunk
And not really freshly shaved?"
She chose a light dress, the kind that's worn on Sundays
Splashed some Trésor on her negligee, but it didn't help much
The rain kept droning on all night, and the lying came to its end
And there was no sheikh, and no playboy, nobody but me available
Another Tuesdays catches me in the act
Gunpowder on the pillow and fingerprints on a foreign body
Bitter are Tuesdays, but always:
Another Tuesday, why am I not running, am I chained?
I told her, normally, "How could I go with you if I was sober?
When sober, I'm so ordinary."
La, la, la ...
1. A reference to the classic song Ne klepeći nanulama