On Tuesday she used to do yoga,
while I'd sit and watch the box
in a vegetable way
but always ready to say
to myself that I was an artist
implying that she was not
It's funny the way that self-pity
can take over from self-esteem -
well, I was the prince of pride,
and though I'd cheat I never lied,
as if that were enough to make her happy,
as if that could satisfy her dreams
Too late now to say that I'm so sorry,
too late to say that I can change and mend
the things that hurt she didn't need to worry,
she always knew I'd get there in the end
Now I'm tying myself up in contortions,
don't know if yoha will do me any good
It's about time I tried, though I'd rather be inside
from the cold, studing tantra -
still, I never did that when I could
I never did the things that really mattered,
there seemes to be some key I couldn't find
to unlock myself;
I could have done it with her help,
but I was to busy scrabbling for each moment -
now I don't know what I did with all the time
Sometimes I'd play the wild rover
sometimes I'd just get smashed all day
on Tuesday she used to do yoga,
on Tuesday she went away