Oh here he comes
oh at a blind, mean speed
oh here he comes
there's nothing to hold him
whatever you told him then

Hazy eyes and hair done by the wind
walking on that same footpath again
he's blowing smoke to nothing in the air
now it's time to face whatever's there

Close your window try to lock your door
be certain of the fact that he wants more
he's tired saying pretty little words
take notice of the backtalk you heard

Whatever you told him
there's nothing to hold him now