When you tie your hair up
And your cheekbones stares below
It stares below, it stares below
When you tie your hair up
And your neck, it stares below
As we tire' of working
The skin creased in our palms cuts deeper each night
At the cusp of the evening
I retire, close my door, then you bid me goodnight
You bid me goodnight

Annie, won't you come back into my home again?
Annie, won't you come back into my home again?

Sometimes when I stand back, I just fool myself and blind my watchful eye
Last week I met a fortune teller
They said: Three steps back, then forward
Forward you go
But I don't know
I don't know

Annie, won't you come back into my home again?
Said, Annie, won't you come back into my home again?
Oh, Annie, won't come back?
Won't you come back?
Oh, Annie, won't you come back into my home again?