She's on his mind in a hotel room Outside the door just like before The night is cold He takes the street below By the light of a killing moon He walks through An empty room In a house with lots of space He's in the city He can hear the yelling Always wanted to become someone real On a dead Sunday afternoon He blends with the noises The faces, the chases Can merely imagine That he's been here before On a dead Sunday afternoon On a dead Sunday afternoon She's on his mind all the time On a dead Sunday afternoon The faces the chases On a dead Sunday afternoon