Late september, feeling alone.
At a hotel in Frankfurt…
In the dim lit glow
Think I’ll turn up the TV
And I’ll kick my shoes to the floor
And I’ll put my sign on the door.
Richardson Road, in early May…
With rows of pink tulips,
Just below the gate
You came out of nowhere
And pretty soon we had a home
And we put a nice sign on the door
The newspaper cried out
It’s solemn decree
I said: «It doesn’t matter»
You didn’t agree
So we saw different people
Though we both tried to lend our support
Until we took our sign off the door.
Well you raised a formal grievance
Had the nerve to even believe it Went around spouting off
Just calling people names
Well your heart was always ticklish
But now you just seem wicked
Are you happy now?
Is the world a better place?
Mad as hell, babe…
Mad as hell.
You revel in abstinence
And you wear it so well
Think I saw you on TV
But you did not look like before
And you were putting some sign on the doors.
Back at the hotel, watching TV
Think I know what love is But is kinda tricky,
I’m a believer
But of what I am not really sure…
So I ain’t putting no sign on the door.