And I in My Chair - Charles Aznavour

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

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.