Cold
Rob Moir Lyrics

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The people from the buildings
Are running to their cars
As the rain it pours hard on the boulevard
There's posters in the gutters
I see workers stacked in streetcars
On the lonesome dark ride
That takes them back where they belong
Is it cold in your bed when I'm not there

I trace highways with my fingers
As cities shrink from airplanes
I stare out the window
And dream of her
As I'm in the arms of strangers
In times of no real danger
On the twisted dark road
That I confuse with home
Is it cold in your bed when I'm not there

'Cause I feel nothing at all
I don't feel I've done something wrong

Overall Meaning

The lyrics of Rob Moir's song "Cold" talk about the loneliness and detachment that individuals can feel in a big city. The opening lines describe the hustle and bustle of the city as the rain pours hard on the boulevard, with people running to their cars amidst posters in the gutters. Through these lyrics, the artist paints a picture of a city moving too fast for its inhabitants and emphasizes the sense of isolation one can feel despite the urban crowds.

The succeeding verse conveys the feeling of being disconnected from everything that was once familiar. Moir's lyrics speak about tracing highways with his fingers, staring out the window of an airplane and dreaming about the person he has left behind, while being in the embrace of strangers. The lines “On the twisted dark road that I confuse with home" give away the artist's confusion as to what home truly means, somewhere between the tangled, unpredictable life of the city and the comfort of home.

The recurring refrain, "Is it cold in your bed when I’m not there," throughout the song is a reflection of the artist's concern about someone dear who is still there amidst the chaos of the city, someone who is still part of his reality. It's a desire to stay connected with this other person even amid the sense of detachment and loneliness in a city of strangers.

Line by Line Meaning

The people from the buildings
People residing in buildings

Are running to their cars
Driving their cars in haste

As the rain it pours hard on the boulevard
Rain is crashing down heavily on the street

There's posters in the gutters
Posters lying in the sewage system

I see workers stacked in streetcars
Viewing the cramped streetcars with many workers

On the lonesome dark ride
A solitary and dark journey

That takes them back where they belong
The ride that returns them to their home

Is it cold in your bed when I'm not there
Asking if one feels cold in bed without me

I trace highways with my fingers
Drawing imaginary highways with fingers

As cities shrink from airplanes
Looking at cities from above, and they appear smaller

I stare out the window
Gazing outside through the window