When you walk out of here,
it's cold, cold, cold, cold, cold.
Can you
close the door when you walk out of here?
It's cold.
I don't need this open door.
Can you close the door when you walk out of here?
It's cold.
I don't need this open door.
I came from a broken home.
In the streets we roamed,
feel alone but we're never alone.
Life took the heaviest toll upon we,
low income,
no expectation upon.
We had to build this thing on our own.
No disrespect to the sacrifice my mum made.
She was young, how was she to know?
But now we grown so we know.
Life ain't fair on our youths in this broken home.
So we build and we grow.
Responsibility's a word that I knew but
lately feels like a word that I know.
What in this world do we own?
Except for the memories,
the legacies,
the time that we give to the people that need it the most.
Can you close the door when you walk out of here?
It's cold.
I don't need this open door.
Can you
close the door when you walk out of here?
It's cold.
I don't need this open door.
When you walk out of here, it's cold.
When you walk out of here, it's cold.
I
don't need this open door.
When you walk out
of here,
it's cold.
When you walk out of here,
it's cold.
I don't need this open door.
Can you
close the door when you walk out of here?
It's cold.
I don't need this open door.