| It was Monday or Tuesday
|
| Or one of them damn days
|
| I was staring backwards from the sun
|
| Through an unrelenting haze
|
| I was shaking, reaching for my cup
|
| Trying to stir my life around
|
| 'Cause I thought I saw my baby
|
| On the other side of town
|
| They were just ten and eleven
|
| And almost seventeen
|
| She was barely thirty-five herself
|
| When I turned drunk and mean
|
| Someone said they seen 'em back
|
| Why would they come around
|
| But I thought I saw my baby
|
| On the other side of town
|
| Now the drunkard, he will go to lengths
|
| To justify his state
|
| But the truth is even one’s too much
|
| When a hundred will not sate
|
| Like a wrecking ball slung through the lives
|
| Of all to whom he’s bound
|
| Well, I thought I saw my baby
|
| On the other side of town
|
| Well, I thought if I could make amends
|
| And somehow get in touch
|
| But then I had to take a drink
|
| And it was all too much
|
| I drank the whole rest of the day
|
| I drank that bottle down
|
| 'Cause I thought I saw my baby
|
| On the other side of town
|
| It was Monday or Tuesday
|
| Or one of them damn days
|
| They keep comin' ever after
|
| Nothing changes, nothing stays
|
| Just a flickering in black and white
|
| An image with no sound
|
| And I think I see my baby
|
| On the other side of town |