I get home late but I can't sleep,
no message on my machine, the red light eyes me knowingly.
And from the note left on my door I know that I shouldn't
call - you won't be home tonight at all.
'Cos when I read between the lines,
pictures of you hi-jack my mind.
I don't know where you're going but I know you're wearing
your make-up - lipstick letters always say too much.
Sit and watch the cars go by with a cheap bottle of
wine, but it doesn't help to pass the time.
I don't know how far we fell,
I don't know if this is hell, but I can hear the funeral bells.
[CHORUS]
Raking through the old fag-ends of forgotten conversations
- they're burning on my lips again.
And from the note left on my door,
I know that I should have called - you won't be coming home at all.
[CHORUS]
