At the end of the week
Crammed in commuter trains
Stations go by

But we don't know their names
Our eyes never meet
We flip trough catalogues

Or gape at our feet
To maintain control


And there's a beacon in the middle of the town
And when the power's out it shows the way back home.


The camera shot
All the grins and stares
But when the pictures appeared


There was no-one there
I could hear the sound

Distant and thin
Of our hearts caving in


And at the end of the week
We'll set things on fire


Do you know that thing
Just before you fall asleep
A sudden shock

And the feeling of falling down
It's the ghosts of the past that try to sink their talons in
And drag you back in to the dark.