Track Insight / Lyrics
Rain taps softly on the tin roof outside
A freight train mutters as the evening tide
The grill clicks off, the coffee starts to cool
A bicycle rusts beneath the dusk in view
I flip the burgers with a practiced hand
The coffee steams like dust across the land
A blue-faced bicycle lies in sight
Behind the garage, half-buried from the light
[Pre-
Every scar has silver in the seam
The morning stains the edges of the tin
I hear the spokes remember how we flew
And pull my tired footsteps into you
Behind the garage where the seasons used to fall
A rusty bicycle waits against the wall
It kept our laughter rolling down the lane
Now it only gathers leaves and rain
Regulars ask if I remember May
When we raced the sunrise halfway down the bay
Two paper bags and summer in our hair
We vanished laughing, young and unaware
[Pre-
Every scar has silver in the seam
The morning stains the edges of the tin
I hear the spokes remember how we flew
And pull my tired footsteps into you
Behind the garage where the seasons used to fall
A rusty bicycle waits against the wall
It kept our laughter rolling down the lane
Now it only gathers leaves and rain
The chrome shed letters where my father stood
His coveralls would stink of grease and wood
The old porch lamp still hums through falling dust
And coffee cooling by the door of us
They left a town that cannot be found
Its laughter buried underneath the ground
But when the grill smoke touches the glass
The old wheel turns and lets the hours pass
Behind the garage where the seasons used to fall
A rusty bicycle waits against the wall
It kept our laughter rolling down the lane
Now it only gathers leaves and rain
At closing time, the floorboards softly groan
The empty chrome reflects the telephone
I grease the hinges of tomorrow's Sunday shop
Then leave one spoke unlatched when daylight drops
Behind the garage where our seasons used to fall
The old wheel keeps the shape of one and all
It turns our laughter slowly down the lane
And carries vanished homes across the rain
The last shutter bangs, the silver kettle steams
A porch light leans and gathers up the beams
I leave the tin can beside coffee, black
Then start the griddle till the morning wakes
