She's on his mind
In a hotel room
Outside the door
Just like before
And night is cold
He takes the street below
By the light over killing Moon

He walks through
Am 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