Red leaves drift on the cobblestone
I walk this old city alone
A gold chain snapped in the autumn breeze
The wind shakes the copper off trees
Brass and brick in the Boston cold
A story that never grows old
Keeping watch while the seasons spin
Where the street ends and memories begin
I saw it lay by the gutter rail
A tiny ghost and a silver trail
The glass is cracked like a frozen lake
A heavy heart is a heavy break
I picked it up with a calloused hand
A little piece of a distant land
It counts the seconds but it cannot run
Wait for the rise of a winter sun
Brass and brick in the Boston cold
A story that never grows old
Keeping watch while the seasons spin
Where the street ends and memories begin
The meter runs but the time is still
The wind climbs up the Beacon Hill
A pocket watch with a rusted gear
Counting the cost of another year
I'll keep it tucked in my leather coat
A quiet song and a lonely note
The sidewalk remembers the way we tread
Until the last of the light is dead
Brass and brick in the Boston cold
A story that never grows old
Keeping watch while the seasons spin
Where the street ends and memories begin
Just a tick and a steady beat.
Brass and brick on a Boston street.
Tick-tock.
Fare's paid.
