I watch the Monarda bloom in gold
A patient story waiting to be told
The soil is heavy and the air is sweet
Where the salt air and the garden meet
You stand in denim on the concrete height
Taming the iron with a jagged light
A spark that jumps across the coastal breeze
While I tend the roots of the willow trees
Blue arc light cutting through the gray
Burning a hole in the dying day
Electric heat on a velvet coast
The kind of magic that I love the most
I call the ferns by their Latin name
While you ignite a momentary flame
The brine is thick on the overpass rail
A steady hand and a silver trail
Blue arc light cutting through the gray
Burning a hole in the dying day
Electric heat on a velvet coast
The kind of magic that I love the most
Slow down the rhythm of the heavy gear
The sound of progress is the only thing I hear
I plant a seed in the dark brown loam
You build the bridge that will lead us home
Your goggles mirror the violet sky
I watch the migratory swallows fly
One welds the steel for the rushing crowd
One keeps the silence of the garden proud
The weld is frozen in a perfect line
Like the twisted curve of a climbing vine
Soot on your collar and salt on my skin
Where the wild coast and the city begin
Blue arc light cutting through the gray
Burning a hole in the dying day
Electric heat on a velvet coast
The kind of magic that I love the most
Blue arc light
Just a blue arc light
Keep it glowing bright
