He said the air was better in Paris. br In Paris we could breathe br Like we never could br Here in the little home I had built. br br So... br I left with him br For the better air br And wine and cheese and cafes and Paris br And because I too wanted to breathe. br br Yesterday he left br For Spain and Spanish things br And the little Flamenco dancer br From the Café... br br Outside my window br The rain pounds mercilessly on the roses he planted for me... br Such lovely things, br So sad to see them die.