He sits in a booth made of red
With a heavy heart and a head
Cold coffee in a ceramic cup
He waits for the morning to wake up
A brass key that opens no door
Lost on a checkered tile floor
It catches the glow of the white light
A beacon in the middle of the night
The metal is worn and it is old
A story that never was told
He rubs the gold edge with his thumb
While the low hum of the engine comes
The waitress walks by with a tray
The coffee is bitter and gray
He stares at the lock that is gone
Until the arrival of the dawn
A brass key that opens no door
Lost on a checkered tile floor
It catches the glow of the white light
A beacon in the middle of the night
Like a lamp on a rocky shore
He doesn't want the lock anymore
Just the shine of the copper glow
Watching the midnight traffic flow
He slips the small prize in his coat
A silent and heavy gold note
The diner is empty and still
The morning air brings a new chill
A brass key that opens no door
Lost on a checkered tile floor
It catches the glow of the white light
A beacon in the middle of the night
Just a key in the pale white light.
Holding on through the lonely night.
