(Michael Weston King)

Well, it’s Friday night at The Tulip Hotel
Ruby is here, Spencer as well
Everything’s easy between eight and twelve
Every Friday at The Tulip Hotel

His car’s on the road side, her’s by the door
So, no-one will know that they’ve been here before
Every Friday, it’s been going on for years
The Tulip Hotel hosts bouquets and tears

A drink at the bar, then she heads on up to the room
He gives her a moment
Then follows her up
For the bitterest of sweet rendezvous

Come morning, the parting, he waves her goodbye
No time for laughter, still time to cry
Once more she leaves him standing alone
Two years, three months, how little have they grown

But, how could she know that he wouldn’t show up next time?
Did the wife and the children
The fear and self-loathing
Weigh far too heavy on his mind
This time?

There’s no point in calling, she’ll get no reply
The reasons for deceiving, you can’t justify
The truth is, she knows that she got what she deserved
Soon will come morning, black coffee to serve
Soon will come morning, black coffee to serve