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Charles Aznavour
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And In My Chair
He, he observes you from where he sits
You, it unnerves you, you lose your wits
He, he ignites you with eyes of flame
You, it excites you, you like the game
And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak
I notice each innuendo
And I, in my chair, I'm stricken with fear
At seeing the end so near
He, out to win you, he woos with style
You, you continue to coyly smile
He, with his quarry on hunting ground
You, only sorry that I'm around...
And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak
I see just how well he's doing
And I, in my chair, I'm trying to hide
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The dread that I hold inside
He, his eyes flatter, your glances touch
You, now you chatter a bit too much
He, like a gypsy, he serenades
You, you grow tipsy, your laugh cascades
And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak
My heart's on the verge of crying
And I, in my chair, my heart understands
My love is now changing hands
No, no, it's nothing, perhaps a little tired only
Not at all, why do you ask? On the contrary...
This was a beautiful evening, yes, indeed, a beautiful evening.
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