Mr. H sat in his hotel room
Too afraid to admit he's scared
Petrified to stone to think
That one day he won't be there
Last night's pack of cigarettes
Still lingers on his breath
Racks his mind trying to find
If he's got anything left
What kind of man lives his life alone
With empty heart and empty home?
With no one's picture on your shelf
It's kind of hard to come back home
To just yourself
Though his setting changes
He still comes back to that place
The one he'll never find
The one that he always seems to chase
Turns on the nightly news
Just to see what day he's in
Continues the fight tomorrow
The fight he knows he will never win
What kind of man lives his life alone
With empty heart and empty home?
With no one's picture on your shelf
It's kind of hard to come back home
To just yourself
What kind of man lives his life alone
With empty heart and empty home?
With no one's picture on your shelf
It's kind of hard to come back home...
Mr. H sat in his hotel room
Too afraid to admit he's scared
Petrified to stone to think
That one day he won't be there
Last night's pack of cigarettes
Still lingers on his breath
Racks his mind trying to find
If he's got anything left

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