Rob Moir - Cold
The people from the buildings Are running to their cars As the rain it pours hard on the boulevard There's posters in the gutters I see workers stacked in streetcars On the lonesome dark ride That takes them back where they belong Is it cold in your bed when I'm not there I trace highways with my fingers As cities shrink from airplanes I stare out the window And dream of her As I'm in the arms of strangers In times of no real danger On the twisted dark road That I confuse with home Is it cold in your bed when I'm not there Cuz I feel nothing at all I don't feel I've done something wrong
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