Every time [bad word] back home
I get this feeling I’m alone
Yet all the streets are all the same
and all my friends still know my name

I wonder when I’m at my door
Will this key work anymore?
Does someone else now live inside
and think the former tenant died?

I don’t know if I’ll be back this time

Sometimes I wish that it were cold
and I had someone warm to hold
to watch the clouds move through the skies
to keep my feelings occupied

I never thought I’d want to leave
I thought I had all that I’d need
Yet my apartment feels so small
when [bad word] home, and no one’s called

I don’t know if I’ll be back this time
I don’t know if I’ll be back
this time I might just stay here with you