Track Insight / Lyrics
I count the sugar packets on the rim
The waitress wipes the counter, hums a hymn
A trucker folds his map like sacred text
The jukebox plays a song that knows what's next
Brass lens holds the night in copper gaze
Steam writes ghosts on glass in curling maze
I catch each prayer that rises from the booth
And sing them back with brass and breath and truth
The pie sits cooling on a chipped blue plate
The cook leans out to smoke beside the grate
A couple argues soft in booth three-four
Their words like altar candles on the floor
Brass lens holds the night in copper gaze
Steam writes ghosts on glass in curling maze
I catch each prayer that rises from the booth
And sing them back with brass and breath and truth
The clock ticks slow above the pass-through window
The coffee pot sings soprano, sweet and low
I focus in on napkin scribbled prayers
A phone number, a name, a string of cares
Brass lens holds the night in copper gaze
Steam writes ghosts on glass in curling maze
I catch each prayer that rises from the booth
And sing them back with brass and breath and truth
My brass body remembers Sunday mornings
When organ pipes would shake the wooden floor
Now I watch the night turn pale and thin
And bless the coffee, bless the greasy spoon
The first light paints the chrome in pale gold lines
The trucker pays and tips in crumpled dimes
I fold my legs, retract my shiny eye
Until the next night brings the hungry sky
Brass lens holds the night in copper gaze
Steam writes ghosts on glass in curling maze
I catch each prayer that rises from the booth
And sing them back with brass and breath and truth
Brass lens sleeps in case of velvet blue
Dreaming of the hymns the nighttime knew
