Every Friday, at fournTo a darkened doornWe bring this packagenWhich always gets sentnBut they're never innAnd so we beginnnTo wonder if they paid the rentnTo wonder if they paid the rentnnThere's wooden partitionsnWhich reek of suspicionnWe notice a roll of banker's chairsnPulled out or pushed aboutnnAs if someone was recently therenAs if someone was recently therennBut they'll be right backnOh, they'll be rightnThere's a sign on the door that saysnThey'll be right backnThey're not like the othersnThe Corwith BrothersnThey'll be right backnnThe place looks oldnLike time has its holdnOn the moment the occupants disappearednThe objects are movednBut the workers removednnI tell my dispatchernMan, this is just too weirdnI tell my dispatchernMan, this is just too weirdnnIt doesn't seem rightnNo computers in sightnI wonder just what kind of business they donnIf no one would mind,nI'd go in and findnA world away from all that is newnnBut they'll be right backnOh, they'll be rightnThere's a sign on the door that saysnThey'll be right backnThey're not like the othersnThe Corwith BrothersnThey'll be right back