These rooms play tricks upon you
|
Remember when they were always filled with laughter
|
But now they're quite deserted
|
They seem to just echo voices raised in anger
|
Maybe you will see my face
|
Reflected there on the pane
|
In the window up above our poor forlorn
|
and broken home
|
Yet this house is empty now
|
There's nothing I can do
|
To make you want to stay
|
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
|
These walls were lined with pictures
|
Remember the glass we charged in celebration
|
But now I fill my life up
|
With all that I can to deaden this sensation
|
Do you recognize the face
|
Fixed in that fine silver frame
|
Were you really so unhappy there
|
You never said
|
So this house is empty now
|
There's nothing I can do to make you want to stay
|
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
|
Oh, if I could just become forgetful
|
When night seems endless
|
Does the extinguished candle care
|
About the darkness
|
It's funny how the memory
|
Will bring you so close then make you disappear
|
Meanwhile all our friends must choose
|
Who they will favor, who they will lose
|
Hang the garland high or close the door
|
Or throw away the key
|
This house is empty now
|
There's no one living here
|
You have to care about
|
This house is empty now
|
There's nothing I can do
|
To make you want to stay
|
So tell me how am I supposed to live without you
|
This house is empty now
|
This house is empty now
|
There's nothing I can do
|
This house is empty now
|
This house is empty now
|
|
-----------------
|
This House Is Empty Now
|
Burt Bacharach |