We’re heading home the music is quiet in my headphones,
I’m not really listening to what you’re saying,
we’ve had some good years constantly passing,
like the trucks on the highway.
It’s not like I would have asked for any of this,
it’s not like things have gotten any worse,
we’re both unhappy, and we need...
some release.
Back at home the house is too quiet, I can’t stand it,
I make for the door, don’t tell you I’m leaving,
and that I may never come back.
There’s snow outside, I should’ve dress warmer,
shit, I can’t go back now.
I can’t go back now, I can’t go back now,
my head is at war with my body,
but I still can’t go back,
at least not just yet.
It’s not like I would have asked for any of this,
it’s not like things have gotten any worse,
we’re both unhappy, and we need...
some release.