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 when his wife packs his suitcase, he looks her straight in
the eye
Every third Monday he finds a new way to tell her that same old lie
Back home in Atlanta, in a cafe 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 cheatin' game
Every third Monday, she packs his suitcase, she looks him straight in the eye
Every third Monday, she finds a new way to tell him that same old lie
Every third Monday, he finds a new way to tell her that same old lie