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The time is gone, the damage done
The image burned, a lesson learned
So long ago, still I know
The echoes, echo, echo, echo

A chronic condition, a homemade perdition
A sense of objection to love and affection
A yearning to wallow, a burden to swallow
Turning and turning and turning and turning…

The curtain’s drawn, the bed is warm
She’ll never come, never come
My arm is raw, the pleasure’s gone
It's too late, too late, too late, too late...

A chronic condition, a homemade perdition
A sense of objection to love and affection
A yearning to wallow, a burden to swallow
Turning and turning and turning and turning…

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