The phone rings once,
twice, and on the line
a womenÕs voice a stranger
IÕm sure she asks for him
he speaks with her,
he rushes to change his
clothes I choose not to
impose, he leaves an hour
or two or three, and
as he enters the house
upon the wind a strange
new perfume blows,
Yet I choose not to
know however sadness fills
my eyes and as he
passes me by he
says not a word and
with the blink of an eye
and a sigh I know
this means good-bye.