A wooden boat on rusted rail
The morning air is thin and pale
It glides across the gravel floor
A drifting ghost from some far shore
Floating through the iron yard
Where the frozen wind hits hard
Sailing on a silver stream
Quiet as a winter dream
No water here to push the bow
Just heavy fog and winter now
The pine planks creak a steady beat
Above the cold and concrete street
The signal lights are blinking red
The heavy engines long since dead
A lonely craft in hollow space
Searching for a hiding place
Floating through the iron yard
Where the frozen wind hits hard
Sailing on a silver stream
Quiet as a winter dream
Old wheels are locked in heavy ice
The frost has paid a bitter price
The wooden hull is worn and thin
Where the midnight fog creeps in
It passes by the sleeper car
The distant harbor feels too far
A wooden shell in metal rain
Cutting through the rusted chain
Floating through the iron yard
Where the frozen wind hits hard
Sailing on a silver stream
Quiet as a winter dream
Just a boat on a rail.
Fading in the grey.
