I could feel it, the vibrations through the crowd
As the train left a puddle of drying oil
I could see myself swimming
In it was all cold except for the laughter and the occasional

Weird places, these transfer stations
The kind of place you mean to pass through
Before you know it, it's home
It's a Saturday night in June
And I'm waiting by the tracks to get out of this place

Malmo
On the way to
Malmo
Malmo
On the way to
Malmo

Three of us sleep next to three others
It's hot and we rot in this oven
Now there's something about the language
Something about these people
That look an awful lot like me
I'm surprisingly accepting of this discomfort
But I'm not trying to be much of a person right now
I'm just trying to get some sleep

Malmo
On the way to
Malmo
Malmo
On the way to
Malmo
Malmo
On the way to
Malmo
Malmo
On the way to
Malmo

You laugh and I agree
That this thing has got the best of me