I caught the bus at half past nine
The silver fog is a crooked line
I saw him there by the wooden pier
A weathered face and a steady gear
Buffing the leather till it glows
While the salty winter current blows
Polishing gold in the morning gray
Buffing the light on the misty bay
He holds the cloth with a heavy hand
A lonely king in a coastal land
The leather shines like a polished stone
He works the grain while he stands alone
My camera lens catches every spark
A sudden flash in the morning dark
He rubs the heel and he clears the grime
A slow dance beat in a timeless chime
Buffing the leather till it glows
While the salty winter current blows
Polishing gold in the morning gray
Buffing the light on the misty bay
The brass is muted and the organ low
The tide comes in and the cold winds blow
He doesn't speak and he doesn't bend
A stubborn road with a bitter end
The leather gleams like a brand new coin
Where the water and the concrete join
I snap the shot as the fog clears out
A single truth that I cannot doubt
Buffing the leather till it glows
While the salty winter current blows
Polishing gold in the morning gray
Buffing the light on the misty bay
Just buff it down. Keep it bright.
On the bay.
