Out through the snow on the road
That leads to our new home for the fall
There's nowhere to go and the cold
Is chilling to the bone, yet I know
I'm not a former author
I think I still can write
If I can find some new things
Inside that twisted head of mine
A place cold as hell, is this sweet dark hotel
With hardly any people around
That can stop me from write
Or murder my family
All on my own in this cold
Makes me lose control
Of my soul
There's nowhere to hide from myself
It's chilling to the bone
I'm not a former author
I think I still can write
If i can find some new things
Inside that twisted head of mine
Of mine
A place cold as hell, is this sweet dark hotel
With hardly any people around
That can stop me from write
Or murder my family
A place cold as hell, is this sweet dark hotel
With hardly any people around
That can stop me from write
Or murder my family
A place cold as hell, is this sweet dark hotel
People around
Can't stop me from write