Cubicle

The news absconded all
Past duely marked
Of what you wanted done
? ? ? ? ? ? been ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
He walked around his stuff
As she ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
The manager speaks of him
Twenty five years down

Chorus:

There's nothing there at all
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
It doesn't matter at all
The emptiness on his face
Now you've put wrong
The simple moments of
Tempering the night
Stand around my ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
Of what's involved
From arguments left out
Can't you hear the call