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Days of the Week

It's Monday mornin' and the coffee's on the brill

The sun's a warnin', sendin' signals to the moon

I rise and fall in my accustomed rusted habits

I can't believe myself and I can hardly stand it anymoreIt's Tuesday mornin', I file my nails and wash my hair

You're still sleepin' like I'm hardly even there

The smell of tangerines are floatin' through the window

I wonder if someday I'll turn into your widow or your maidIt's Wednesday mornin', I think you may have tried to cheat

I smell the perfume on the inside of your sleeve

I must admit I know I can be quite obsessive

I get dramatic and I'm ready to confess it to the LordIt's Thursday mornin', I could be pregnant, could be bored

I want to love you, I want to be the staple sword

We might be out of soap or real communication

And all the tricks my little brain plays on my nerves they need to endIt's Friday mornin', thank god the weekend's almost here

Let's get some breakfast and get far away from here

So I can tell you that I am a secret agent

Who's stationed in a small hotel in Southeast AsiaBut that's a lie, you know I've never even been there

I tend to get real bored with my own head

And try to make you care

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