**[Intro - 8 bars, accordion sigh, coffee grinder, bell on door]** [Spoken] Another morning. Same rain. [Verse 1 - accordion + upright bass only, intimate] Six o'clock, the rue's still grey I unlock the doors to rue de Seine Same two sugars on table three Where monsieur left Sunday at eight-fifteen Same blue ribbon where mademoiselle Dropped her poems when she fell For a man with silver at the temple And a wife at home... named Claire. **[Pre-Chorus - gypsy guitar enters, light]** Claire is sick, this much I know Not dead. Just... not expected to grow Old, not cold. He told me so last spring Before she ever walked in to sing **[Chorus - waltz blooms, brushed drums + accordion, to audience]** Will she come Sunday? It's not for me to say Will he come Sunday? It's not for me to say I make the coffee, I wash the cups I watch them fall, I watch them get back up Or not get up. It's not for me to say No, it's not for me to say **[Verse 2 - walking bass, he sets her table, then his table, never both at once]** He is fifty-three, she is nineteen She thinks that's love, he knows what love means To stay when staying breaks your heart To leave when leaving is the kindest part He hasn't been since Sunday night She hasn't either — not in daylight But I see his shadow past the quai at three And her blue bike chained by the bakery **[Pre-Chorus 2 - bigger, strings enter soft]** They do not meet, that much is true This week at least, not in this room He takes the long way round past Saint-Sulpice She comes at nine, when his chair is empty, you see? **[Chorus 2 - add backing "oohs" like a street choir outside]** Will she come Sunday? It's not for me to say Will he come Sunday? It's not for me to say I set two tables, far apart One for the ending, one for the start Which is which? It's not for me to say No, it's not for me to say **[Bridge - breakdown, just accordion + his voice, he holds the blue flower she left, then puts it in water]** I have been here forty years Seen a thousand girls with ink and tears Seen a thousand men who think they know When to stay and when to go And every time I think I know the way it ends... I am wrong. So I make the coffee. **[Instrumental - 8 bars, musette solo, sunrise through window, E-flat major lift]** **[Final Chorus - tender, not triumphant, sunrise fully]** She will come Sunday? It's not for me to say He will come Sunday? It's not for me to say I will be here, like I am today Six o'clock, unlocking rue de Seine Two sugars, one blue flower in a glass Waiting to see which way the heart will pass Or if it passes at all... It's not for me... It's not for me to say. **[Outro - spoken, as first customers enter, bell jingles]** But come Sunday... order early. It will be crowded.
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