You walk into a room
And you are instantly feeling uncomfortable
But it was cold outside
Figures sodden and smug and impenetrable

They hand the bags to you
And their shoulders are forming a mountain range
They don't invite you in
Though you are of their ilk and by no means strange

When you finally find your family
Will you be turning your back on your former self?
It's a story of hypocrisy
Once was poor, is now a man of wealth

Will he be turning his back on his former self?
Will he be turning his back?
Turning his back again?
Turning your back again?
Turning your back again on your former self

How do I know when a stranger's not a god in disguise
Who will fallow your fields and make you bleed from your eyes?
Rain fires from the skies
And for Godsakes
Open your door

They hand their bags to you
(Oooh)
They don't invite you in
(Oooh)

Turning your back on your former self
Will you be turning your back?
Turning your back again
Turning your back on your former self
Ooh

You walk into a room
And you are instantly feeling uncomfortable
But it was cold outside
Figures sodden and smug and impenetrable

How do I know when a stranger's not a god in disguise
Who fallow your fields and make you bleed from y our eyes?
Rain fires from the skies
And for Godsakes
Open your door

Copyright: Wixen Music Publishing
Writer(s): ANDREW WEGMAN BIRD