You’re Not Home - Keane

The click of the front door

Your clothes left on the floor

Bike wheels still turning

Where you left them on the back lawn

Your voices recede and

Your fingers slip from my hand

White skies and silence

A lifeless wind burns through the Downland

And it’s cold, cold, cold, cold, cold

When you’re not home, home, home, home, home

I sit and stare, I sit and stare

Into my phone, phone, phone, phone, phone

I love that silver-grey first morning light

I see that fearless love in your blue eyes

Think I can picture some new shape of life

But now you’re not home

No, you’re not home, not home

And it’s cold, cold, cold, cold, cold

When you’re not home, home, home, home, home

I sit and stare, I sit and stare

Into my phone, phone, phone, phone, phone

I love that silver-grey first morning light

I see that fearless love in your blue eyes

Think I can picture some new shape of life

But now you’re not home

No, you’re not home

I love that silver-grey first morning light

I see that fearless love in your blue eyes

Think I can picture some new shape of life

But now you’re not home

No, you’re not home

Not home, no, you’re not home

Not home, no, you’re not home

Not home

No, you’re not home