You made the call
With your last bit of sense (cents?)
There’s no one home
But behind the fence
There’s an old man
He’s got an old withered face
He’s disappeared now without a trace
Our cups are full
Right to the brim
We’ve chewed the fat
Till we’re all grim
Love’s got a way
Of holding me in my place
I’m not talking about the facts
Oh no
Oh no
I’m talking about the case.