but the air is bitter and it bites 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