There was a thought process that I can't quite recallWhen I was drunk beyond repair and barely standing strong at allI'd grown accustomed to the curbside by your houseBut that's no excuse for the concrete feeling that I'm feeling nowI've got a catalogue of things I've felt at 2amBut now I'm looking for the sense in all the things I wish I'd saidI used to know this old town like the back of my handBut now I can't see past my noseSo I'm fallingFollowing a road that's led me toYour white light paper doorAnd a cardboard fire deckIt's a sign that I never sawYou're out of line, I know for sureBut you're still here on my backAnd there's not a damn thing I can doAbout nowI left a message but you can't have found it stillBecause I haven't heard a thingAnd I don't think I ever willAnd on the journey home it came from out the blueThere was a thought process but it's not like I'd ever thought it throughI used to know this old town like the back of my handBut now I can't see past my noseSo I'm following a road that's led me toYour white light paper doorAnd a cardboard fire deckIt's a sign that I never sawYou're out of line, I know for sureBut you're still here on my backAnd a cardboard fire deckIt's a sign that I never sawYou're out of line, I know for sureAnd I don't think I ever willBut you're still here on my back