Untitled translation (7): "for most western readers"

One day you’ll walk out on me, I know,
saying you need a change of air;
you hope I understand, you do so hate a fuss.

I suppose you’d love to see me dancing
somewhere out ahead of you,
scattering azaleas in your path, perhaps?

I can just see you there, prancing along
squashing those poor flowers underfoot
as you fade away into the sunset.

Oh yes, you’ll walk out one day, I know,
saying you need a change of air;
you think I’ll mind? I won’t, you know.