1215 - 8 | Текст песни

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I get home from work and you're still standing in your dressing gown
Well what am I to do?
I know all the things around your head and what they do to you
What are we coming to?
What are we gonna do?

Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite...that beams me home

The troubled words of a troubled mind I try to understand what is eating you
I try to stay awake but its 48 hours since that I last slept with you
What are we coming to?
I just don't know anymore

Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite...that beams me home

I get on the train and I just stand about now that I don't think of you
I keep falling over I keep passing out when I see a face like you
What am I coming to?
I'm going to melt down

Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite...that beams me home

Tonight, this is killing me
Tonight, this is killing me

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