He sees her facenThe highway signsnThe traffic lightsnAnd she's turning rednAt a motelnOn a double bednHe swears he feels her lying therennAnd she whispers in his earnYou can't run away forevernBut sometimes nThat feels like coming home to me anymorenIt feels like coming home to menBut the further off I getnnThe more I get upsetnI could never make it homennShe sees his facenIn the sweat-stained sheetsnThe dirty cupsnThey keep on piling upnIn the backyardnSo overgrownnIn the dandelionsnThey peek through the cracks in the pationShe swears she hears the phonenBut she only gets a dial-tonenSo she imagines what'd she say:nnIf you feel like coming home to me sometimenYeah, if you feel like coming home to menI'll be waiting at the doornThere is nothing to be sorry fornSo why can't you come home?nDon't you feel like coming home to me anymore?nYou don't feel like coming home to me?nnThat's the game you choosenBut you don't have to play the loser