You always said you missed me,
And,
I'd always said,
I'd missed you too.
I suppose, it was a bit of a lie,
But apparently one I put more effort into,
Than you put into yours.
But, that's all right 'cause,
I've got a ticket home,
For Monday night,
I never even unpacked my bags,
Or asked your woman's name,
And that's all right.
I think,
You'd always hoped,
You could make my entire world,
Fall into thousands of pieces,
Like your shattered guitars,
Your crushed beer bottles,
Your stamped-out cigarettes,
But even when your combat boots had lost their shine,
And my reflection no longer showed in their scuffed leather,
Even when you wouldn't oil them up anymore,
There was still, many another place,
I could turn, to see my face,
Without banging on your door.
And that's all right, 'cause,
I've got a ticket home,
For Monday night,
I've got other friends in this bright little town,
In snowy Pennsylvania,
I've got plenty other places,
To turn, to see my face,
Than the mirror in your hallway,
Than the glasses in your sink,
Than the jewelry 'round your woman's neck,
Your effortless lie,
That eventually found me out, as well,
And that's all right, 'cause,
I've got a ticket home,
For Monday night,
And when you realize your mistake,
You're going to take the same Greyhound Bus,
Off 85th street,
To my little snowbound apartment,
And catch me,
In the shine of your oiled up combat boots,
Of that ring, I'd thrown back in your face,
With my own effortless lie,
Beneath the sheets.
And that's all right, 'cause,
I've got a ticket home,
For Monday night,
But all you've got is,
Your effortless lies,
And your scuffed out shine,
And no one there,
To take you back,
To 85th.