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]