Stay off the side streets tonight.
The snow cuts the depths of our sight,
and I'm so afraid of these waters we wade
because nothing about them is right.
The wind blows bitter and cold,
sculpting this Frigidaire mold.
The street lights are faint from the frost and the paint.
These sidewalks seem so withered and old.
I just hope that we get home.
We shouldn't be out here alone,
braving these climbs for cheap thrills and dimes,
these blizzards that turn us to bones.
We could've stayed in, you know,
and taught these embers to glow.
But we rolled the dice, and we lost more than twice
because we never know when to go.