| <It's getting late. Streets are empty. | |
| Buildings spark, and then burn to the ground. | |
| In this eclipse, the ghosts are hopeless. | |
| Shapes and frames trapped in the grasp of ice | |
| Glowing, gloaming I know nothing at all (x2) | |
| We'll spread this ash all down Queen Street | |
| Our relics pass in small gusts of wind | |
| Our egos spill down dirty gutters | |
| We'll watch the sky fill with smoke and take it in | |
| Glowing, gloaming I know nothing at all (x2) | |
| Young eyes ignite, burning city | |
| No time to stop, life's so busy. > |
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