There're four windows on the ceiling
In my hotel room
And I've got that limp old feeling
Of a heavily used broom.

I have stretched my nervous tension
Way beyond the muted phone,
Pining hard for your attention
Like a dog after a bone.

Wipe the floor with me, my dear,
It's what you do best,
Let me take your silent fear
As another test.

I count four windows on the ceiling
Just like yesterday,
And I've got that eerie feeling
There're still four of them today.

"So you'll be my nightmare now,
Chasing me around,
Writing me your e-mails,
Treading on my sacred ground?"

Oh, your questions are delicious
Just like poison on rye,
One more serving of suspicions
Then I'm all ready to die.

Oh, I'd be your nightmare, baby,
But I'm just too broke,
Spent all my Euros on hotel rooms
And a diet Coke.

I would chase your every footstep,
Write you in your gilded cage,
But obsession's over-rated
In this lovely day and age.

There're four windows on the ceiling,
Four times woman split in two,
Eight halves of your nightmare reeling
Between mirages of you.

Yeah, four windows on the ceiling,
Four blinds blocking out the sun,
Oh, I've got that schizo feeling
That I've lost four minds, not one.

I count four windows on the ceiling
Just like yesterday
And I've got that eerie feeling
There're still four of them today.

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