Maybe tomorrow, I won't go home. Maybe she won't even care. At seven, she'll throw a kiss towards the door. And smile at my empty chair. . For there's nothing there for a man to cling to.
Maybe tomorrow I won't come home maybe you won't even care. At seven you'll throw a kiss toward the door and smile at my empty chair. For there's nothing here for a man to cling to nothing to keep me at home.
Maybe tomorrow, I won't go home. Maybe she won't even care. At seven, she'll throw a kiss towards the door. And smile at my empty chair. . For there's nothing there for a man to cling to.