White page folded in a crease
Looking for a moment's peace
Peeling paint on iron beams
Torn apart at all the seams.
The wind is cold and thin
The midnight games begin.
Caught in the rafters high
A white bird in a grey sky
Tangled in the rusted wire
Higher than a steeple spire.
Cold oil smells on heavy air
Iron rails that lead nowhere
Station clocks are frozen still
Waiting for a sudden thrill.
The wind is cold and thin
The midnight games begin.
Caught in the rafters high
A white bird in a grey sky
Tangled in the rusted wire
Higher than a steeple spire.
I can see the ink and line
Written in a cursive sign
Small hands made a daring flight
Now it holds the dimming light.
I will reach the highest shelf
Find a piece of my own self
Break the grip of aged steel
Make the hidden motion real.
Caught in the rafters high
A white bird in a grey sky
Tangled in the rusted wire
Higher than a steeple spire.
Now it rests inside my palm
In the center of the calm
Grey paint flakes upon the floor
Open wide the depot door.
Caught in the rafters high
A white bird in a grey sky
Tangled in the rusted wire
Higher than a steeple spire.
Paper wings, drift away
Into a brand new day.
