the wind is taking more drags off my cigarette than I am. that's buffalo;
wind&concrete;&cold.;
I won't let you crawl into the gutters,
and die in the snow.
in the alleys of these long lost streets,
we keep trying to revive.

and I ask myself
if you'd let me fall asleep out in the cold,
six shots down & I don't want to know.
I'm still walking on my own,
against the cold, and keeping warm.

I'm taking good care of myself,
now that I know you won't do it for me.