It's a prerecorded message
which
rubs me up like some mad
massage and I find there
no relief.

Tuesday and if I could run
I'd run to somewhere it
can't come,

but Tuesday gets in everywhere,
a toxin in the air we breathe

I believe it's someone's scheme
to make us sad and crush
all dreams we ever had
or drown us in those rushing
streams of thought that one
week we'd wake up and find that
Tuesday
' bought the farm '

Wednesday is not as bad
especially when it's over.

dark down on the underground
people deep in contemplation,
I think of
Tottenham Court and the bright new station,
it's still Tuesday though.