but the air is bitter and it b***s at my blistered cheeks / turning my pale skin crimson at the tip of my beak / i'm as confused as i've ever been / cup my hands to my mouth and breathe / there's got to be some warmth inside of me / who knew the West Coast could be so cold? / it's nothing like i had been told
sure, i'm used to being lied to / aren't you? / but i was hoping there would be some kind of truth / to the fairy tales of my youth / slow starts
and cold, cold hearts / i can feel my hope begin to freeze / slow starts and cold, old hearts / this is the sound of ambition dying
sure, i'm used to being lied to / aren't you? / but i was hoping there would be some kind of truth / to the fairy tales of my youth / slow starts
and cold, cold hearts / i can feel my hope begin to freeze / slow starts and cold, old hearts / this is the sound of ambition dying