She's on his mind In a hotel room Outside the door Just like before And night is cold He takes the street below By the light over killing Moon
He walks through Am empty room In a house with lots of space He's in the city He can hear the yelling Always wanted to become someone real On a dead Sunday afternoon
He blends with the noises The faces, the chases Can merely imagine That he's been here before On a dead Sunday afternoon On a dead Sunday afternoon She's on his mind all the time On a dead Sunday afternoon The faces, the chases On a dead Sunday afternoon
