Sky full of factory smokestacks
Hot cinders paint the snow black
Turn up my collar to the cold
My old boots are wet and dirty
Missed my bus, it's seven thirty
Ah, there must be more to life than growing old
Each day seems like the last one
Each year, just like the past one
As if they stamped them from a mold
Somehow it seems to be
The only change is you and me
There must be more to life than growing old

There must be more to life than growing old
What happened to the dreams we used to hold?
We never asked for cities paved with gold
There must be more to life than growing old
We never asked for cities paved with gold
There must be more to life than growing old
There must be more to life than growing old