Too attached to the unpleasantries when farewell's not goodbye
With a headful of road and wife alone in bed
You hug your young son so tight and close and cry
Every family fiber screaming nothing to be said

Well acquainted with the velvet touch of the female hand
Like the cool drink you've earned when the hot job's done
Quite familiar with the female form on the bedroom wall in a foreign land
Like the shadow from a past when you love someone

Too accustomed to the private lies of work and workplay
When reminded by the subtle touch of the flowers there
You jump your best through the steeplechase of the day
And laugh as you struggle and cry as you swear