I'll lose some sales and my boss won't be happy,
but I can't stop listening to the sound
of two soft voices
blended in perfection
from the reels of this record that I've found.
Every day there's a boy in the mirror asking me:
What are you doing here?
Finding all my previous motives
growing increasingly unclear.
I've traveled far and I've burned all the bridges
I believed as soon as I hit land
all the other options held before me,
would wither in the light of my plan.
So I'll lose some sales and my boss won't be happy,
but there's only one thing on my mind
searching boxes underneath the counter,
on a chance that on a tape I'd find:
a song for someone who needs somewhere to long for.
Homesick.
Because I no longer know where home is.
