ON A DEAD SUNDAY AFTERNOON

She's on his mind in a hotel room
Outside the door just like before
The night is cold
He takes the street below
By the light of a killing moon
He walks through
An empty room
In a house with lots of space

He's in the city
He can hear the yelling
Always wanted to become someone real
On a dead Sunday afternoon

He blends with the noises
The faces, the chases
Can merely imagine
That he's been here before
On a dead Sunday afternoon
On a dead Sunday afternoon

She's on his mind all the time
On a dead Sunday afternoon
The faces the chases
On a dead Sunday afternoon