I'm driving home from work. Knowing you're not there. I used to hurry home. Now I don't even care. . The sun is in my eyes. So I can't see. But when it sets down.
I worked with a woman named Minnie. One Christmas eve long ago. When I asked, "What you doing this evening?". Minnie took on a seasonal glow. She said she'd be waiting for Santa.
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh. . Maybe he'll know, why. I'm not so sure. Maybe he'll know, why. Maybe he'll be, be my cure. . Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh. . Maybe he'll know, well.
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh. . Maybe he'll know, why. I'm not so sure. Maybe he'll know, why. Maybe he'll be, be my cure. . Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh. . Maybe he'll know, well.
Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh. . Maybe he'll know, why. I'm not so sure. Maybe he'll know, why. Maybe he'll be, be my cure. . Oh oh, oh oh, oh oh. . Maybe he'll know, well.
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?. What can you tell me of reality?. I'm only woman, not just a fantasy. And the flesh and blood is warmer than some color transparency.