another day it s poetry write it spill my heart out to her but i m no writer just bad rhymes and some confused sentiment it was love she s done with me i m no good here in this world for no one i watch the window count cars not a new thought in my head and i sold my hopes to closing doors left to die in the snow getting old and getting bored i color inside the lines of days with blue since we drove up to bunker hill and you said i can t take a winter one more year if i don t leave now i ll die right here you got aboard on a train headed no place took a seat by yourself we all need space passing towns with no names no lit streets from wet and cold to dry and heat dozing off nest in your arm rumbling through desert night cling to your overnight bag train jerks voices float the engine wails when the station emptied out i dragged myself down to franklin ave where the sleet it hit me new dreams rusting on some old steel rails and i sold my hopes to closing doors left to die in the snow getting old and getting bored i color inside the lines of days with blue since we drove up to bunker hill and you said i can t take a winter one more year if i don t leave now i ll die right here you got aboard on a train headed no place took a seat by yourself we all need space passing towns with no names no lit streets from wet and cold to dry and heat from wet and cold to dry and heat from wet and cold to dry and heat