You fold the map on dryer tops
Red lines bleed through the steam and rot
Token booth still takes the drop
Train don't care what keys you got
Eighty-Two Grid don't lie to you
Rain writes routes that maps hold true
Spin cycle hums a lullaby
Next stop's coming wet or dry
You trace the blue where transfers meet
Gum-stuck seats and conductor's beat
Coin slot jams on winter nights
City swallows down its lights
Eighty-Two Grid don't lie to you
Rain writes routes that maps hold true
Spin cycle hums a lullaby
Next stop's coming wet or dry
Fluorescent flickers dryer drum
Paper corners succumb to thumb
You watch the gauge not dashboard glow
Rain writes routes the drivers know
Every fare's a story told
City eats both young and old
Laundromat keeps the map alive
Twenty-four hours rain or shine
You wait for spin you wait for line
Transfer punched at quarter to nine
History folds in pocket deep
Promises the city don't keep
Conductor calls the final stop
Map folds flat in pocket top
Dryer sighs and heat will drop
Rain still writes on glass nonstop
Eighty-Two Grid don't lie to you
Rain writes routes that maps hold true
Spin cycle hums a lullaby
Next stop's coming wet or dry
Token rusts in fare box tray
Red line runs a new way today
Driver knows the price you pay
Meter runs come what may
Eighty-Two Grid don't lie to you
Rain writes routes that maps hold true
Spin cycle hums a lullaby
Next stop's coming wet or dry
Eighty-Two Grid you hold it tight
Next stop's coming through the night
