You step off the curb in the cold
Where the red brick stories unfold
Autumn leaves paint the city in rust
Turning the pavement to golden dust
Spin the brass horn and let it play
Chasing the ghosts of a yesterday
Light on the brick like a lucky coin
Where the old street and the melody join
You wind the crank with a steady hand
The finest sound in a concrete land
The needle scratches a worn out groove
Making the heavy morning air move
You watch the light hit the weathered stone
A secret rhythm you carry alone
The wind blows sharp through the narrow street
While the gramophone keeps a steady beat
Spin the brass horn and let it play
Chasing the ghosts of a yesterday
Light on the brick like a lucky coin
Where the old street and the melody join
The dawn is a race that you cannot win
The clock on the tower is starting to spin
Hold to the music before it is gone
Before the gray city awakens the dawn
The fare is paid in a memory's cost
Finding the pieces that you thought were lost
The brass is shining in the amber glow
Watching the autumn river flow slow
Spin the brass horn and let it play
Chasing the ghosts of a yesterday
Light on the brick like a lucky coin
Where the old street and the melody join
Just a coin on the brick in the gold.
The story is finished and told.
