Every Third Monday

Every Third Monday
He drives to Charlotte every third Monday
And checks into the Twelve Oaks Motel
He calls it business and he calls the number
Of a woman he knows all too well

Every third Monday his wife packs his suitcase
And he looks her straight in the eye
And every third Monday he finds a new way
To sell her that same old lie
At home in Atlanta, in a café for lovers
She slips off her gold wedding ring
To a stranger in a back booth she whispers ‘I’d love to’
Two can play at this old cheating game
Cos every third Monday she packs his suitcase
She looks him straight in the eye
Every third Monday she finds a new way
To sell him that same old lie
Cos every third Monday he finds a new way
To sell her that same old lie