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.)