Walked out to low winter son. those nights made us heroes to some. all blister kissed fingers and young mistakes lost in the hum. still hanging at waters edge. had 6 good years floating in debt. well weathered and travelled and god knows we're used to getting wet. still yr friends move slower than icebergs caught in the wake. so show me the blade, it's just ripped from the game, got held spellbound, speechless, how martyrs are made. this magic's worked backwards, i don't think you need to get saved. still yr friends move slower than icebergs caught in the wake. i hope we meant something when it's over and futures are made. when canada waters's a flooded and miserable grave. when weather means nothing and memories are all we can trade