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?