I was born yesterday

And I believe all that you say

I have no choice

I must obey

You

Is this the first or the second day

Of the rest of my life

Well, hey!

Why should I care

Either way

If what you say is true?

Saturday morning

Eighteenth of December

I cannot remember the last time that I saw

Such a young ballerina

In love with the loveless

In tune with a tuneless old upright piano

Standing on point

Going through each position

With gentle precision

She measures each movement

Her classical features and elegant waistline

Are going to waste while she pleases her parents

I

I was born yesterday

And I believe all that you say

I have no choice

I must obey

You

I have a question:

Is this the first or the second day

Of the rest of my life

Well, hey, hey!

Why should I care

Either way

If what you say is true?

What if they die on the road to Rathmines

Where a dog in two minds times his run to perfection

An orphan at last, she'd be sick in the loo bowl

Then go to the funeral

And cry by the graveside

And then sleep with the first man she sees

And she'd catch some disease that she'd give to her doctor

She'd cook her own breakfast, and she'd cook his as well

And both get on swell, even though he was married

You are a part of me

I am a part of you

Why should I let you walk

All over me?