The cold wind starts to blow The trees are due for winter calm I look around and there is no place to go I fall asleep in your arms Then I dream about a home But your hand's fading away And when I wake up you are gone And still the shadows find their way These times are getting rude It's like I'm singing out of tune I'm kind of loosing my faith I start to brood I have to shake this empty mood I'm roaming in the streets People's faces are cold There's somewhere else I'd rather be 'Cause the city keeps making me old I'd like to rest in a field With an oak as my only shelter If I stay there until the winter comes for real Maybe my soul will be lighter These times are getting rude It's like I'm singing out of tune I'm kind of loosing my faith I start to brood I have to shake this empty mood The cold wind started to blow The trees were due for winter calm I looked around and there was no place to go I fell asleep in your arms