Here I am, back at the dooreven though I don't live here anymore.When there's no answer I should say: That's that.But instead, I just grab the key -I left under the mat.

 

I knew that I'd be backI knew I would retreat over the track.I hate that I'm here, it's not where I oughta be;but it's the most familiar place,when I am prodigal me.

 

The problem's always the same-not sure if it is small pleasures, or big shame;but when I turn the key and tumble the lock,the two enemies I face are the devil and the clock.

 

Neither one's quite as you'd fear,one's just stoned-faced,the other grinning ear-to-ear.But neither makes a quick move,while you're still at the door...Showing temptation, and always offering more.

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