Verse 1

I packed my Sunday shirt beneath a borrowed coat

This town keeps pouring rain against the window glass

I count the miles by every letter that I wrote

And wonder if you still leave the porch lamp on at last

Chorus

I’m coming home, my darling, when this work is through

This road is long, but every mile runs back to you

Keep a little room beside you, keep the kettle warm

I’m coming home to you, away from this strange town

Verse 2

The hotel clock keeps arguing with the dark

Your photograph leans crooked by the telephone

I hear your laugh inside the station’s whistle and the cars

And every borrowed bed reminds me I’m alone

Chorus

I’m coming home, my darling, when this work is through