I am the bench by the grey water line
Waiting for rhythms to align
He holds the wrench in a shaking grip
Watching the heavy ferry ship
Tighten the wire till it screams in the cold
Stories of iron and rust now unfold
Screwing the tension to a perfect high
Under a flat and a colorless sky
Salt on the wood and a bitter breeze
He brings the ivory down to its knees
Turning the pin with a slow steady hand
Far from the noise of the crowded land
Tighten the wire till it screams in the cold
Stories of iron and rust now unfold
Screwing the tension to a perfect high
Under a flat and a colorless sky
Coffee in paper and grease on the sleeve
Watching the morning refuse to leave
He strikes a note that is sharp and is thin
Letting the winter and loneliness in
Tighten the wire till it screams in the cold
Stories of iron and rust now unfold
Screwing the tension to a perfect high
Under a flat and a colorless sky
The tide pulls the oil in a shimmering streak
The metal is humming the truth he won't speak
He packs up his kit as the first engine roars
Leaving the ghost on the desolate shores
Tighten the wire till it screams in the cold
Stories of iron and rust now unfold
Screwing the tension to a perfect high
Under a flat and a colorless sky
Cold steel keys.
Just a flat note.
The ferry leaves.
