I say nothing to them.
Sometimes I can't believe this is home.
I've heard it before.
I thought I'd been over that.
You'll never really pass the things
You're afraid of.
The man on the plastic bag looks like terror.
He's staring at me. I can't say why.
His face seems spoiled.
When I think of calling a friend, I notice that
Most of them have mutilated into acquaintances
Maybe that's my fault, maybe it's a form of getting old
I'm used to small talk at the moment.
Lyrics submitted by twitty
"Come on Home" as written by Markus Acher Mario Thaler
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., THE BICYCLE MUSIC COMPANY
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