A confession that doubles as a seduction: that is the situation this song leaves standing. A man has cheated on someone who trusted him; the lyric names cheating a friend and says there is no comfort in the truth. Dancing — the thing they shared — becomes the measure of what his carelessness cost: guilty feet have got no rhythm. He swears he'll never dance the way he danced with her, which is to say he'll never be that close to anyone again.

What keeps the song alive is that the remorse never sounds like punishment. The voice is composed, almost caressing, and the saxophone figure is pure allure — a plea delivered like a come-on. The music never breaks under its own guilt; it glides, unhurried and settled, until it fades without answering his last, self-pitying question — was what I did so wrong — an apology quietly curdling into bargaining over whether abandonment fits the crime. It remains, on its slow-dance surface, a song about never dancing again.