Track Insight / Lyrics
Tuner parks his cart near switching yard
Fog swallows signals, switches, steel
Opens case, lifts lid on upright frame
Damp wood drinks mist like thirsty sponge
He turns the pin, he finds the tone
Each string sings clean through wool-gray air
Wrench bites tight, then gives a little
Pitch climbs true in railway hush
Breath clouds rise from grease-stained knuckles
Felt hammers kiss copper wound wires
Condensation beads on tuning fork
Vibration hums through calloused palm
He turns the pin, he finds the tone
Each string sings clean through wool-gray air
Wrench bites tight, then gives a little
Pitch climbs true in railway hush
Freight cars shudder, couplers clank past
Rhythm section built on iron wheels
Tuner nods, adjusts the middle C
Train passed Doppler bends the note
He turns the pin, he finds the tone
Each string sings clean through wool-gray air
Wrench bites tight, then gives a little
Pitch climbs true in railway hush
Camera clicks from boxcar doorway
Teen runaway frames the golden scene
Shutter catches light in lamp glow
Fingers frozen on tuning wrench
No audience but rust and fog
No stage but concrete ties and gravel
Music measured in cents and beats
Perfection tuned for no one's ears
Final octave checked, case snapped shut
Cart wheels squeak on frosted platform
Fog lifts slow as morning approaches
Last chord hangs in warming air
He turns the pin, he finds the tone
Each string sings clean through wool-gray air
Wrench bites tight, then gives a little
Pitch climbs true in railway hush
One last note rides the lifting fog
Tuner walks home through clearing mist
Piano waits in empty station
