Ink lines bleed on plastic coat
Nineteen eighty-two wrote the note
Red thread runs where steam once rose
Now the yard sleeps nobody knows
I am the grid beneath the street
Salt air rusts my paper feet
Every station every name
Burns like a lens in fossil flame
Watch the fog write zero on the frame
Token brass turns green with time
Schedule printed rhythm rhyme
Conductor chalk marks where to stop
Phantom wheels on steel don't drop
Third rail hums a lullaby
Tide charts marked on graffiti sky
I held the beam for forty years
Now I guide the underground gears
I am the grid beneath the street
Salt air rusts my paper feet
Every station every name
Burns like a lens in fossil flame
Watch the fog write zero on the frame
No foghorn here just brake shoe squeal
Kerosene scent in diesel meal
But the watch is the same the dark is deep
I keep the lines while the city sleeps
Morning clears the vapor trail
Commuters rush the map turns pale
But I'll be here when night returns
Guarding junctions counting burns
I am the grid beneath the street
Salt air rusts my paper feet
Every station every name
Burns like a lens in fossil flame
Watch the fog write zero on the frame
Zero on the frame
Lamp swings slow on rusted chain
Fog writes zero on the frame
