Oak planks resting on a concrete floor
Behind a heavy rusted metal door
Ink on parchment smells like old wet clay
Where the city noise just fades away
Floating in a room of paper walls
Drifting where the quiet archive calls
Wooden hull in a basement of gold
Keeping all the hidden stories hold
Sanded cedar in a dim blue light
Safe from all the traffic of the night
Yellow folders stacked in rows of ten
Waiting for the ink of a heavy pen
Floating in a room of paper walls
Drifting where the quiet archive calls
Wooden hull in a basement of gold
Keeping all the hidden stories hold
Copper lamps cast a soft amber glow
Watching as the heavy currents flow
Water stains on a leather bound book
Giving every page a second look
Floating in a room of paper walls
Drifting where the quiet archive calls
Wooden hull in a basement of gold
Keeping all the hidden stories hold
Cold white tiles and a humming machine
The strangest harbor that he's ever seen
Iron railings hold the boat in place
Tracing every line on a faded face
Heavy air and a scent of old glue
Finding something honest and something true
No more wind and no more salty spray
Just the ink that washes the grey away
Sinking deep in a velvet black chair
Cold urban winter in the basement air
One small match for a flickering spark
Cutting through the heavy velvet dark
Floating in a room of paper walls
Drifting where the quiet archive calls
Wooden hull in a basement of gold
Keeping all the hidden stories hold
Archive boat, drift slow.
Paper walls, let it go.
