she said "i'm outside your door".
he said "we've been here before".
and when he's laying you like concrete
you think you've got the deal signed, sealed and complete.
i hate to be the one to tell you you're wrong
but you're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong.
she still comes around.
she said "i can't get you off my head".
he said "can you move over a bit, you're beginning to stick".
laying in his bed it's all too clear,
can't steer a juggernaut stuck in neutral gear.
as the sun soaks suburbia and pokes in his room,
he's gone, he's gone, he's gone.
kick a dog out into the street,
still be there at the end of the week.
