I off the train, I'm walking down your street again, and past your door, but you don't live there anymore. It's years you've been there. you've disappeared somewhere like outer space, you've found some better place, and I you - like the deserts miss the rain. Could you be dead? You always two steps ahead of everyone. We'd walk behind while you would run. I look up your house, and I can almost hear you shout down to me where I always used to be, and I miss you - the deserts miss the rain. on the train, I ask why did I come again. Can I confess I've been hanging around your old address? And 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