And I will skim, my little sail,
my friends all shivering on the rails.
Floating ten feet above the ground,
twelve millionaires coughing up clouds.
Get them out.
Train across the island, spitting steam.
Six stations of a snowy screen.
Out by the fields of silver trash,
the city trembles when slashed.
Come on out.
I've had enough.
I can see him almost now(?).
There's is no one there to help you.
There's no oe there to hold you, let it go.
I've felt enough.
Can't really feel it anymore.
And I know I'm closing off as it gets colder.
Can I call out like before?