leaves are reminders

the small fallen signpost

you are going cold

under the bleachers

you can't hide forever

the air has grown old

what you wanted to say

has now all blown away


frozen the dirt roads

the ruts become guides and you're mind you're confined

stumbling backwards

to where you'll end up and it's all been defined

it's the force of the cold and the chances you've sold

and I'm killing this time but it's not really mine


don't give me the wide eyes and act like you don't know

these small towns have ways of making you feel sorry

don't tell me, i know


i'm off


pulling your hair and you don't seem to care

you're no fun anymore

blaming the brown of the sky and the ground

you're so easily bored

it's the force of the cold

and the chances you've sold

and i'm killing this time but it's not really mine


don't give the wide eyes and act like you don't know

these small towns have ways of making you feel sorry

don't tell me, i know