Winter: See?

Tamara: See what?

Winter: You were diggin me

Tamara: Diggin isn't the right word

Winter: So you hate me, I knew it!

Tamara: Hate not close enough to the soul

Winter: Do you love me?

Tamara: Give me a lot more miles

Winter: How many twists can you put on damp from the antique rain? So here, here in my cab I write for myself. Here's where I stay true!