| It’s the morning after
|
| And we’re on a train zigzagging 'cross the countryside
|
| On our way home from a party
|
| That turned insane
|
| He dozes off on my shoulder
|
| Wakes up suddenly, apologizes
|
| Looks the other way
|
| So tell me how
|
| Tell me how I can tell him I love him
|
| So tell me how
|
| The neighbor came a-knocking
|
| Said she’d call the cops
|
| He said, «I'll turn down the stereo»
|
| Pretended to adjust the volume knob
|
| He’s my best friend
|
| And we can talk about anything
|
| As long it’s about nothing
|
| As long as it don’t cut deeper than the skin
|
| Tell me how
|
| Tell me how I can tell him I love him
|
| So tell me how
|
| Tell me how I can tell him I love him, so
|
| Tell me how
|
| I mean I guess he knows
|
| Just like I know when he says something funny and I laugh from my belly
|
| Or when Sandra left him and I held him when he cried
|
| For a moment he left his guard down and so did I
|
| But it’s so deep within me, the way a man should be
|
| Passed on through generations of men before me
|
| A line drawn in the sand to keep us apart
|
| A rusty, old padlock hanging on our hearts
|
| So tell me how
|
| We part ways at the station
|
| He’s got his bike and he rides into the gap
|
| 'Tween day and night
|
| Before he’s gone he shouts, «Later, dude»
|
| I think, «Yeah
|
| I love you too» |