I get home from work and you`re still standing in your dressing gownWell what am I to do?I know all the things around your head and what they do to youWhat are we coming to?What are we gonna do?Blame it on the black starBlame it on the falling skyBlame it on the satellite that beams me homeThe troubled words of a troubled mind I try to understand what is eating youI try to stay awake but its 58 hours since that I last slept with youWhat are we coming to?I just don`t know anymoreBlame it on the black starBlame it on the falling skyBlame it on the satellite that beams me homeI get on the train and I just stand about now that I don`t think of youI keep falling over I keep passing out when I see a face like youWhat am I coming to?I`m gonna melt downBlame it on the black starBlame it on the falling skyBlame it on the satellite that beams me homeThis is killing meThis is killing me