I get home from work and you're still
Standing in your dressing gown.
Well what am I to do?
I know all the things around your head
And what they do to you.

What are we coming to?
What are we gonna do?

Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite that beams me home.

The troubled words of a troubled mind
I try to understand what is eating you.
I try to stay awake but its 58hrs since
That I last slept with you.

What are we coming to?
I just don't know anymore.

Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite that beams me home.

I get on the train and I just stand about
Now that I don't think of you.
I keep falling over I keep passing out
When I see a face like you.

What am I coming to?
I'm gonna melt down.

Blame it on the black star
Blame it on the falling sky
Blame it on the satellite that beams me home.

(This is killing me.)
(This is killing me.)