In a cold town by the shore,
there's a hill, where the city lights shine,
in a cold, winter in the north,
I drive; the skyline's alive.
you might be cold, but I don't mind,
coming back to you.
And my breath leaves easier now,
like a ghost in the air.
To the left, there's a boy in the park,
with black frozen hair.
And the road, I know every day,
the road, why should I stay?
Wou might be cold, but I don't mind,
coming back to you.
And I wake in the morning
with the itch to be leaving,
every single day.
To hop to the wheel and drive into the city,
but I know I'd run away.

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