postcard from princess, last cigarette, st patrick'snin a west end toronto polish bar, back achenand i can't wait to see you, i can't wait to be alonenand i'll call you tomorrow from winnipeg or saskatchewannthe drunken wine is keeping me from sleepingnand it's changing the channels on my tvnand i've forgotten all the pretty liesnthat used to come so easily to mindnnand the stars aren't guiding us homenthey're just dragging us backwards and forwards 'til dawnnnfinish what you're doing and kiss me on the mouthnand call up all of your friends for a quiet night outnthis dance is no race, death is no dreamnand she's treating this jukebox like a washing machinenshake me from this feeling, wake me from the couchnthe words are so close but i can't make them outnthis house is so quiet, this house is so stillni told you that i loved you, always have and always willnnand the stars aren't guiding us homenthey're just dragging us backwards and forwards 'til dawn