One year like any old other year in a week like any week   Monday lying down, half asleep   People doing what people do, loving, working and getting through   No portraits on the walls of Seventh Avenue      Then Tuesday came and went like a helicopter overhead   The letter that she left, cold addressed in red   Tuesday came and went one, one September when   Will she come again?      The thing about memories they're sure and bound to fade   Except for the stolen souls, left upon her blade   Is Monday coming back? Well, that's what Mondays do   They turn and turn around afraid to see it through      Tuesday came and went like a helicopter overhead   The letter that she left, cold addressed in red   Tuesday came and went one, one September when   Will she come again?      Tuesday came and went one, one September when   Cold and dressed in red, how could I forget?   Tuesday came and went like a helicopter overhead   Will she come again?