The house is lonelier now than it was before I met you,
The dark rooms, the empty halls
Were not so dark nor empty
Now they underline the fact that you are not here.
On the streets, as I stand under the bridge
Avoiding the rain, my clothes wet,
I watch the cars come down the freeway,
White lights coming, red lights going.
Like the cars, we are always just arriving or just leaving,
The time we are together is so short
It becomes a blur of light and noise.