I am the watch in his shaking hand
Counting the miles of this salted land
Brass on my face and a spring in my chest
Driving a boy who can never find rest
Copper gear road under Arizona sky
Watch the white lines as the red hawks fly
Turning the wheel while the seconds spin fast
Holding a ghost from a clockmaker's past
Oil on his thumb and a smudge on his sleeve
Searching for something he needs to believe
He traces the edge of the asphalt grey seam
Waking up slow from a mechanical dream
The heat makes the horizon shimmer and shake
Waiting for one single promise to break
I feel every bump in the chassis of steel
The grit of the desert is all that is real
Copper gear road under Arizona sky
Watch the white lines as the red hawks fly
Turning the wheel while the seconds spin fast
Holding a ghost from a clockmaker's past
Wind through the window and sand in the gear
The sound of the engine is all that I hear
Screwing the tension until it might snap
Following marks on a hand-drawn map
He looks at my dial and he sighs at the time
Rhythm of travel is a heavy old rhyme
Copper and silver and glass in the sun
The race for the border has only begun
Copper gear road under Arizona sky
Watch the white lines as the red hawks fly
Turning the wheel while the seconds spin fast
Holding a ghost from a clockmaker's past
Tick tack tick tack Never look back
Copper gear road
