I'm coming into your town.
Night is falling to the ground,
but I can still see where you loved yourself
before he tore it all down, April 12th,
with nobody else around; you were outside the house;
where's your mother?
When he put you in the car,
when he took you down the road.
And I can still see where it was open,
the door he slammed closed.
It was open, the door he slammed closed.
It was open, long ago.
Don't lose me now, don't lose me now.
Though I know that I'm not useful anyhow,
just let me stick around and I tell you, like before,
you should say his name the way that he said yours.
You don't want to say his name anymore.
Oh, say no more.

Baby daughter on the road,
wrapped up warm in daddy's coat.
Well, I can still see the cigarette's heat.
Can't believe all that you're telling me,
what is cutting like the smoke through your teeth as you are telling me “forget it.”
But if I could tear his throat,
spill his blood between my jaws,
and erase his name out for good, don't you know that I would?
Don't you realize I wouldn't pause,
that I would cut him down with my claws
if I could have somehow never let that happen?
Or I'd call up some black midnight,
fuck up his new life where they don't know what he did,
tell his brand-new wife and second kid.
And I tell you, like before,
you should wreck his life the way that he wrecked yours,
you are no part of his life anymore.
Oh, say no more.

Don't lose me now, let me help you out.
Though I know that I can't help you anyhow,
when I watch you I'm proud.
When I tell you twice before
you should wreck his life the way that he wrecked yours,
you want no part of his life anymore.
Oh, say no more.
And it'll never be the way it was before,
but I wish that you would let me through that door.
Let me through that door.
Let me through that door.
Let me through that door, baby.