You walk the curb of Fifth and Main.
The autumn air smells like the rain.
The ticket booth is locked and tight.
The park is sleeping for the night.
Count the steps by the iron gate.
The rusted ride is forced to wait.
Orange fur and a steady pace.
Looking for a familiar face.
You see a leaf of copper gold.
The city wind is biting cold.
The carousel is frozen still.
A winter chill, a sudden thrill.
Count the steps by the iron gate.
The rusted ride is forced to wait.
Orange fur and a steady pace.
Looking for a familiar face.
A yellow cab slows to a crawl.
Against the gray and stony wall.
The driver nods with tired eyes.
Underneath the heavy skies.
Count the steps by the iron gate.
The rusted ride is forced to wait.
Orange fur and a steady pace.
Looking for a familiar face.
You find a scrap of salty fish.
A lonely street cat's only wish.
The asphalt hums a low refrain.
While you dodge a puddle stain.
The ferris wheel is just a bone.
A giant circle left alone.
But for a second, someone cares.
A hand reaches down the concrete stairs.
A woolen glove, a gentle touch.
A little warmth that means so much.
The meter ticks a steady song.
This is where you finally belong.
Count the steps by the iron gate.
The rusted ride is forced to wait.
Orange fur and a steady pace.
Looking for a familiar face.
One more step to the open door.
You don't have to count no more.
No more counting.
No more cold.
