postcard from princess, last cigarette, st patrick's   in a west end toronto polish bar, back ache   and i can't wait to see you, i can't wait to be alone   and i'll call you tomorrow from winnipeg or saskatchewan   the drunken wine is keeping me from sleeping   and it's changing the channels on my tv   and i've forgotten all the pretty lies   that used to come so easily to mind      and the stars aren't guiding us home   they're just dragging us backwards and forwards 'til dawn      finish what you're doing and kiss me on the mouth   and call up all of your friends for a quiet night out   this dance is no race, death is no dream   and she's treating this jukebox like a washing machine   shake me from this feeling, wake me from the couch   the words are so close but i can't make them out   this house is so quiet, this house is so still   i told you that i loved you, always have and always will      and the stars aren't guiding us home   they're just dragging us backwards and forwards 'til dawn