I am the rail of rusted steel
Cold to the touch and hard as wheel
He leans his weight on my grey spine
Watching the harbor's silver line
Blue denim skin in the salty air
Staring at lights with a steady glare
Hold on tight to the iron grip
Before the golden moments slip
He smells of ozone and burnt wire
Hands that have danced in a welding fire
He keeps a watch on the distant quay
Where the black water meets the sea
Blue denim skin in the salty air
Staring at lights with a steady glare
Hold on tight to the iron grip
Before the golden moments slip
Like *Banksia* roots in the sandy grit
He stands his ground and he does not quit
The wind blows hard through his faded sleeve
A quiet magic he must believe
Blue denim skin in the salty air
Staring at lights with a steady glare
Hold on tight to the iron grip
Before the golden moments slip
The city glows like a distant coal
A heavy rhythm that shakes the soul
He waits for dusk to turn into night
Under the glow of a harbor light
Blue denim skin in the salty air
Staring at lights with a steady glare
Hold on tight to the iron grip
Before the golden moments slip
Just a man and the rusted rail
Watching the ships as they set their sail
Salty air, blue denim skin.
