The day is gone, when the [bad word] to stay,
and all the silent whispers will be blown away...
Laying in the corner - a pair of high-heeled shoes,
Hanging on the wall - gold and silver for the blues.

One too many wasted sunsets,
One too many for the road,
And after dark the door is always open,
Hoping someone else will show.

Someone is waiting behind the unlocked door,
Gray circles overhead emptiest on the floor.
Cracks in the walls have grown too long,
Slow hand is dragging on the afraid to meet the dawn.

One too many wasted sunsets,
One too many for the road,
And after dark the door is always open,
Hoping someone else will show.