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(difford/tilbrook) |
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I'm faced with the facts |
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And a fist full of threats |
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I stand quite amused |
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At the end of the bed |
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I have no defense |
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For what i have said |
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As a handful of love |
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Whacks me right round the head |
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She's growling and stalking |
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And grabs from a pile |
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A book that she throws |
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And it missed by a mile |
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I'm holding a pillow |
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And as naked as sin |
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I'm backed to a corner |
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With a wastepaper bin |
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Then up on the mattress |
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There's no place to go |
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I'm guilty yes guilty |
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But there's no place like home |
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I rewind the hours |
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To see what went wrong |
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I plead for forgiveness |
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And i'm hit like a gong |
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It seems that i'm guilty |
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Of smiling too long |
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When recalling lovers |
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That now are long gone |
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I'm guilty you're guilty |
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So let me be stoned |
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The past is the present |
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When there's no place like home |
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Off with the shoes |
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And a whack round the head |
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Your ear rings like a phone |
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Some explanation |
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Might patch and mend |
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A love that's lost control |
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Now there's no place like home |
