It's empty in this kitchen,
no Law and Order reruns in the background,
walker's missing from the living room,
phone been ringing for hours now.

Kitchen table's not so cluttered,
no newspapers waiting near the door,
nothing moves inside here anymore,
not even the dog on the floor.

And I'm waiting for a sound,
and I'm waiting for a call,
and I'm waiting for a voice,
calling me down from below.

And I'm waiting for a bus,
and I'm waiting for a friend,
that I know isn't coming,
to the home where she once lived.