At the end of the weeknCrammed in commuter trainsnStations go bynBut we don't know their namesnOur eyes never meetnWe flip trough cataloguesnOr gape at our feetnTo maintain controlnnAnd there's a beacon in the middle of the townnand when the power's out it shows the way back homenIt shows the way back homenIt shows the way back homenIt shows the way back homennThe camera shotnAll the grins and staresnBut when the pictures appearednThere was no-one therenI could hear the soundnDistant and thinnOf our hearts caving innnAnd there's a beacon in the middle of the townnand when the power's out it shows the way back homenIt shows the way back homenIt shows the way back homenIt shows the way back homennAnd at the end of the weeknWe'll set things on firenAnd at the end of the weeknWe'll set things on firenWe'll set things on firennDo you know that thingnJust before you fall asleepnA sudden shocknAnd the feeling of falling downnIt's the ghosts of the past that try to sink their talons innand drag you back in to the darknBack in to the darknBack in to the darknnAnd at the end of the weeknWe'll set things on firenAnd at the end of the weeknWe'll set things on firenWe'll set things on firenYeah, we'll set things on fire