It's not the clothes that she borrows,
just call me out, 'cause you know I'll follow
Back through the backdoor and into June,
luck will sleep with the October-June

Sometimes in deep thought, I'm 31,
she's wanting kids, it sounds like fun
I teach them to sing along,
sure beats the end of a smoking gun

And I know that God exsists,
'cause I feel him sometimes
But she takes up the sheets
by telephone lines

When I'm home she says,
"Baby, you're alive"
You're not really here,
you've gone away