The roses are gone, and the hollyhocks,
but still each night I mend your cotton socks.
Now our little boy has the chicken pox.
Ulysses, honey, when you coming home?

The men hanging round are just boys to me.
One from Trinidad and one from Tallahassee.
But I need more than boys to make my sugar tea.
Ulysses, honey, when you coming home?

All night I’m waiting by the telephone.
I haven’t paid the bill and I’m all alone.
Don’t you ever hear those voices in the dial tone?
Ulysses, honey, when you coming home?

Life without you is a heart attack.
You just got your suitcase and started to pack.
I know you’ll come driving a brand-new Cadillac.
Ulysses, honey, when you coming home?

You’re a man who couldn’t cross the ocean
without making a scene or some sort of commotion.
Out in the sun you’d forget your suntan lotion.
Ulysses, honey, when you coming home?

I’m tired of living on government checks.
They pay for the liquor but not for sex.
Now they tell me you left no forwarding address.
Ulysses, honey, when you coming home?

Last night I had the strangest vision.
Two big bay horses had a collision,
and there was your face on the television.
Ulysses, honey, when you coming home?

—William Logan