I heard you danced, so slow,
with a man on a moonlit beach in southern Mexico.
Was it me? Was it me?
When you looked into his eyes did you see me?
Was it just an apparition that you held in your hands?
Was it just a stick man drawn in the sand?
(I'm just asking.)
Did he speak words of love?
Did he compare your eyes to the starry skies above?
Did he make you laugh and feel free
to be the wonderful lover you always thought you could be?
Well, when the party ended
and the mariachis all went home
did you pay the price by being left alone?
Did those warm south winds blow?
Did the moon hang bright and full?
Was the music soft and slow?
On the beach he stands alone,
as you sail north to your California home.
And the tide comes rolling in
to wash away your lovely stick man.