You lean on a wall of peeling white
You watch for the ghost of a midnight light
Your boots are caked in the river clay
You wait for a call from a far away
Splicing the copper and holding the line
Counting the seconds in overtime
Watching the depot and guarding the rail
Waiting for news in a rusted mail
You carry a toolkit of heavy steel
You know how the hum of the circuit feel
The paint on the siding is curling thin
You open the door and you let them in
Splicing the copper and holding the line
Counting the seconds in overtime
Watching the depot and guarding the rail
Waiting for news in a rusted mail
You brew a black coffee in a plastic cup
You wait for the morning to wake it up
The switchboard is clicking a steady beat
You feel the old gravel beneath your feet
The wind hits the wire with a low metal moan
You stand in the station and feel all alone
But you keep the connection and tighten the screw
Doing the work that you're born to do
You check every junction and every lead
Giving the circuit the power it need
The depot is empty and quiet and still
You hold to the promise with a steady will
Splicing the copper and holding the line
Counting the seconds in overtime
Watching the depot and guarding the rail
Waiting for news in a rusted mail
You smoke a cheap cigar by the wooden gate
You tell every traveler they can just wait
The wires are singing a low southern song
You knew this old station was where you belong
Splicing the copper and holding the line
Counting the seconds in overtime
Watching the depot and guarding the rail
Waiting for news in a rusted mail
Just hold the line. Keep it humming.
Keep it humming now.
