| I don’t plan anything
|
| I’m trying to come home
|
| Thoughts of you are always on my
|
| Mind
|
| A runaway from problems, my excuse
|
| When I am there
|
| You roll over — once again I’m gone
|
| It’s old, it’s plain to see this life of
|
| Tragedy
|
| Save it for later — that’s what we always
|
| Said
|
| What will that do for us?
|
| What will they do for us?
|
| What will they do for us now?
|
| Tried to paint a picture of the times
|
| That we once shared
|
| Never seemed to be so concerned
|
| The story goes like this…
|
| You say I’m almost never there
|
| Independence is what you want
|
| An arm to hold on, someone to sleep
|
| Next to in the night
|
| Rolling over — once again I’m gone
|
| Look through the backlog, an index
|
| Of thoughts
|
| This time it won’t get to me
|
| What will they do for us?
|
| What will they do for us?
|
| What will they do for us now?
|
| I tried to paint a picture of the time
|
| We once shared
|
| Never seemed to be so concerned
|
| (And I don’t plan anything
|
| I’m never comin' home
|
| Thoughts of you are on my mind
|
| So I’m never gone…)
|
| What will they do for us? |