Seven-thirty... candles burning low. Your favorite record turning nice and slow. Two glasses waiting, red wine breathing free. I even moved the flowers where you said they ought to be. Your chair beside the window, my jacket on the floor. I checked the hallway twice when footsteps crossed the door. Eight-oh-five... I smile at nothing. Eight-ten... I pour the wine. Maybe traffic caught you somewhere. Maybe you're just taking your time. I'm waiting for you, baby, with the whole night dressed in gold. Dinner getting quiet, one side of the table cold. I rehearsed the way I'd kiss you, every foolish word I'd say. Then the telephone started ringing... and the music slipped away. I let it ring three times. Don't know why. Something in that sound already knew before I did. I said, “Hello?” A stranger said my name. Then every little light inside the room somehow changed. No... No, you've got the wrong— ...okay. I was waiting for you, baby, with the whole night dressed in gold. Now the candles keep on burning and your side is getting cold. Your glass is still untouched there, your shadow's in the hallway. One telephone kept ringing... and stole tomorrow from today. Funny how a room can change without moving anything. Same wine. Same chairs. Same moonlight. Same record spinning. But the man who answered that phone... isn't the man who let it ring. I was waiting for you, baby. I guess some nights don't arrive. Two glasses on the table... only one of us tonight. I'll leave the record turning. I don't know what else to do. One plate getting colder... and every song sounds like you. Nine-seventeen. Candles burning low. Your favorite record... still turning nice and slow.
