High above the archive door
Wind is shaking every floor
Copper bird with rusted wing
Hears the city sirens ring
Deep below the concrete line
Papers sleep in rows of pine
Ink is dry on yellow sheets
Hidden from the busy streets
Spinning slow in a heavy grey
Watching all the hours slide away
Turning green in the salted air
While the basement holds a secret there
Metal bends against the gale
Like a broken silver nail
Looking down on quiet stone
Standing in the rain alone
Spinning slow in a heavy grey
Watching all the hours slide away
Turning green in the salted air
While the basement holds a secret there
Heavy books in leather skin
Wait for someone to begin
Old ink stains on a velvet page
Lock the spirit in a cage
Click the shutter capture light
Hold the copper in the sight
Buses roll through golden haze
Counting down the lonely days
Screws are loose and wires fray
Worn away by yesterday
Bending low to touch the ground
Where the heavy truth is found
Spinning slow in a heavy grey
Watching all the hours slide away
Turning green in the salted air
While the basement holds a secret there
Copper turning green.
Slowing down the spin.
Copper turning green.
