In the back of the house in the room I used to sleep   I woke up and smelled burning wires      For a month I wasn't me   A thief would wait for me outside      There were nights I would let him in      No one ever found out      I always wondered, Francis, where you lived      Standing proudly in the tub   I never saw you in your clothes      In the back of the house in the room right next to mine      The only place she let you smoke   There you spent most of your time      Painting pictures of smoke