Woke up to an empty house
The rain that's always coming down
It's the same old storm
Another empty glass of red
You took the sheets right off the bed
Now they're on your ghosts
You used to tell me that everything
Is a little better in the morning
But when you're lonesome, and you've got no one to take you home
I don't know
You took me for a rolling stone
And teased me on the telephone
Oh Atlanta, you're just a little out of touch
I'm building castles out of rags and thread
Empty bottles by the riverbed
Oh, I'm a lonely son
But you're the wild one
This old house, it speaks
All the floors beneath my feet say they miss you
Oh they should be missing me
So I'll right down everything you said
Pour your ghosts a glass of red
And watch your thunderstorms roll across the bed
Go on and tell me that every light
Is a little brighter in the morning
But when you're lonesome and you find someone to take you home
I don't know

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