If I were free and you were free with no one to ask and no one to see, and we could do what we wanted to, what would you want of me?
I'll answer for you and you answer for me; if you were free and I were free, you wouldn’t do what you think you would, when everything’s easy, one is good and you wouldn’t want to, once you could...
Now you answer for me.
Kay Sage's "R.S.V.P." begins like a flirtation, with a question tossed across a table: if nothing stood in our way, what would you want from me? The title borrows the formula of an invitation, and the speaker really is waiting for a reply. But before the other person can speak, she steps in and answers for both of them, and her answer is a little deflating. If you were free, she says, you wouldn't actually do what you imagine. Wanting is sharpest when something forbids it; once everything is allowed, the thrill drains away, and "you wouldn't want to, once you could."
The mood is playful on the surface and quietly wary underneath. The neat, chiming rhymes keep the tone light, while the trailing dots at the end of the second stanza let the doubt hang in the air. Then the last line hands the question back: "Now you answer for me." It leaves the speaker exposed, still hoping to be proved wrong.