It’s yet to be determined,
but the air is thick,
and my hope is feeling worn.
I’m missing home,
and I’m glad you’re not a part of this,
there’s parts of me that will be missed.
And the phone is always dead to me,
so I can’t tell you the temperature is dropping
and it feels like.

It’s colder than it ought to be in March
and I still got a day or two ahead of me
till I’ll be heading home,
into your arms again.
And the people here are asking after you.
It doesn’t make it easier.
It doesn’t make it easier to be away

I’d like to hire a plane
I’d see you in the morning
when the day is fresh.
I’m coming home again. 
Coming home again
Coming home again
When the day is fresh,
I’m coming home again

But it’s warmer where you’re waiting.
It feels more like July.
There’s pillows in their cases,
and one of those is mine.
And you wrote the words “I love you”,
and sprayed it with perfume.
It’s better than the fire is
to heat this lonely room.
It’s warmer where you’re waiting
It feels more like July.
It feels more like July.