When it's cold outside, I won't know where to find you.
You're not between my sheets, you're the beauty that I can't see, in anything around me.
I won't cry, this winter, though my bed feels, emptier than ever.
I'm ripe with thought of you, I guess the truth is I miss you.
When you're coming home, am I with you?
When you're coming home, are you coming home?
If you're coming home, am I with you?
Are you coming home?
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