I step off the train, walking down your street again, and past your door, but you don't live anymore. It's years since you've been there. Now you've disappeared somewhere like outer space, found some better place, and I miss you - like the deserts the rain. Could you be dead? You always two steps ahead of everyone. We'd walk behind while you would run. I look up at your house, and I can almost hear you shout to me where I always used to be, I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain. Back on the train, I ask why did I come again. Can confess I've been hanging around your old address? the years have proven to offer nothing since moved. You're long gone but I can't move on, and I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain