You put your perfume on the letter
The letter that you sent;
Saying that we were finished,
That your love for me was spent.
I smelt the perfume on that letter;
I swear it knocked me flying.
If I didn't know any better,
I'd say even the mailman was crying.

Don't leave me now, don't leave me
You know I won't survive
Every single thing I see
I see only through your eyes;
Don't leave me now, don't leave me
Don't leave me without a sign
Whether all those things you said and did
Were the fruit of chance or of design.

Words & Music © M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP} & MGP