with the future in your arms in a cold embrace and all your southern charm full of northern grace you find yourself on bended knees praying down on robson street in an old hotel you wear your hands just like a thief a ghost of you used to be before you fell waiting for your love to take you home from your old montana home you travel down until from the pavement of your sorrow roads the flowers of your wealth you cross the line and seldom speak kissing bluebirds on the cheek in the morning rain the pictures sing to a callused spell every time you lose yourself the stranger you became waiting for your love to take you home after all these crooked miles with sorrow deep and wide we re here for just a while i ll see you on the other side underneath some piece of roof down on culfax avenue we ll walk alone we ll talk of things that never die with your filthy hand in mine cold as a stone waiting for our love to take us home