You stand still in the cold grey light.
Holding a line through the dead of night.
Iron rails are your garden bed.
Metal veins where the currents tread.
Cast your line in the subway stream.
Wake the city from a heavy dream.
Pull the silver from the dark below.
Watch the midnight electric glow.
Your patience is a rooted thing.
Waiting for the steel bell to ring.
Salty skin in a sterile place.
Cold white tiles on a tired face.
You treat the grit like a rich black soil.
Where the heavy iron engines coil.
Mind the gap like a river shore.
Counting beats till the open door.
Cast your line in the subway stream.
Wake the city from a heavy dream.
Pull the silver from the dark below.
Watch the midnight electric glow.
Deep in the loam of the city floor.
You find the key to a hidden door.
No more waiting for the morning sun.
The midnight harvest has just begun.
Syllables snap like a frozen wire.
Burning low like a hidden fire.
Sifting through the industrial haze.
Lost inside of a concrete maze.
Cast your line in the subway stream.
Wake the city from a heavy dream.
Pull the silver from the dark below.
Watch the midnight electric glow.
Concrete tide, pull it in.
Concrete tide, let it spin.
