I'll lose some sales and my boss won't be happy,

but I can't stop listening to the sound

of two soft voices

blended in perfection

from the reels of this record that I've found.

Every day there's a boy in the mirror asking me:

What are you doing here?

Finding all my previous motives

growing increasingly unclear.

I've traveled far and I've burned all the bridges

I believed as soon as I hit land

all the other options held before me,

would wither in the light of my plan.

So I'll lose some sales and my boss won't be happy,

but there's only one thing on my mind

searching boxes underneath the counter,

on a chance that on a tape I'd find:

a song for someone who needs somewhere to long for.

Homesick.

Because I no longer know where home is.