Yellow paint is peeling thin
Where the swampy air leaks in
Wooden porch and rusted rail
Old man tells a winding tale
He doesn't move his heavy hand
Just watches water flood the land
The light is turning gold and green
The softest glow I've ever seen
He's a bayou meter running slow
Nowhere left for him to go
Counting miles in a velvet haze
Lost inside those summer days
He once drove the city beat
Searing asphalt, summer heat
Now he sits in wicker lace
With a map etched on his face
He doesn't move his heavy hand
Just watches water flood the land
The light is turning gold and green
The softest glow I've ever seen
He's a bayou meter running slow
Nowhere left for him to go
Counting miles in a velvet haze
Lost inside those summer days
Cypress knees break through the mud
Pulsing like a heavy thud
I capture glass and silver light
Before the day turns into night
Check the lens and shift the focus
Small and still as tiny locusts
One last shot of how it feels
Far away from spinning wheels
He's a bayou meter running slow
Nowhere left for him to go
Counting miles in a velvet haze
Lost inside those summer days
Sinking deep in velvet chairs
Ignoring all the worldly cares
I pack my bag and hit the road
Carrying a heavy load
He's a bayou meter running slow
Nowhere left for him to go
Counting miles in a velvet haze
Lost inside those summer days
Just a snapshot in the dark
One small flame, a tiny spark
Running slow, running slow
