I step off train, I'm 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, you've found better place, and I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain. Could be dead? You always were two ahead of everyone. We'd walk behind while you would run. I look up at your house, and I can hear you shout down to me where I used to be, and I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain. on the train, I ask why did I come again. Can I confess I've hanging around your old address? And the years have proven to offer nothing since you moved. You're gone but I can't move on, and I miss you - like the deserts miss the rain