My hands are empty and so are yours My mind is distracted and confused Our hands are trembling and feeling cold And the singer is misused
His song is old It's words are bold But he thinks they will turn into gold
And the truth will betray it's prophet As the speakers touch the misfit And the neon lights tell their story All about this snake pit
Singing the rhyme Wasting our time We are longing for the sublime
When I speak of the cold winds that blow It's the people that make us lonely And I stopped to catch a glimpse Of you now I'm left – only
I can't make it You will take it With you on your way to forsake it
My hands are empty and so are yours My mind is distracted and confused These hands are trembling and feeling cold And I feel misused
This song is old It's words are bold But I think they might turn into gold