He sits on a stack of old ink
Where the heavy leather covers sink
A tawny coat in the window glare
With a steady and a royal stare
Cobblestone velvet under the moon
Humming a midnight city tune
Cold winter air on a frozen street
Walking the rhythm of four white feet
He watches the *Hedera* climb
Counting the seconds of urban time
The alley is narrow and paved in gray
Where the ghost of the summer used to stay
Cobblestone velvet under the moon
Humming a midnight city tune
Cold winter air on a frozen street
Walking the rhythm of four white feet
He knows where the *Taxus* grows deep
While the tired city people sleep
A flicker of gold in a sea of blue
Waiting for something entirely new
Cobblestone velvet under the moon
Humming a midnight city tune
Cold winter air on a frozen street
Walking the rhythm of four white feet
The bookstore is locked with a heavy key
But the wild open alley is where he is free
He leaps o'er a puddle of oil and ice
Thinking the midnight wind feels rather nice
Dig in the dirt where the root meets the stone
A kingdom of velvet he claims as his own
No more old pages or ink on the shelf
He is a master of his own wild self
The *Lavandula* sleeps in the frost
Where the map of the city is jagged and lost
He purrs at the wind and he tilts his head
While the rest of the world is tucked into bed
Cobblestone velvet under the moon
Humming a midnight city tune
Cold winter air on a frozen street
Walking the rhythm of four white feet
Four white feet on the stone.
Yeah, he's walking home alone. Cobblestone velvet.
(Brass stab)
