Track Insight / Lyrics
He sits in glass above the river mud
Counts coins and tires, watches orange flood
The workshop backyard grows wild and high
Kudzu eats the fence where the old dogs die
Footsteps on the gravel, regular as rain
He marks each passing, starts the count again
Nine dollars cash, or tokens in his hand
The bridge don't care who owns the promised land
A figure moves at six-fifteen each morn
Boots scuff the shoulder, uniform and worn
He never looks up at the collector's face
Just walks the line with measured, quiet grace
Footsteps on the gravel, regular as rain
He marks each passing, starts the count again
Nine dollars cash, or tokens in his hand
The bridge don't care who owns the promised land
The workshop silent since the lay-off year
Rust claims the lathe, the press, the engineer
Backyard's a jungle now, reclaiming steel
Collector watches, wonders what is real
Footsteps on the gravel, regular as rain
He marks each passing, starts the count again
Nine dollars cash, or tokens in his hand
The bridge don't care who owns the promised land
Rain hammers tin roof of the booth at night
He dreams of footsteps, disappearing light
No coins to count, no engines in the yard
Just kvetching regulars and coffee burned hard
Spring brings the bidders, yellow tags on gates
Collector packs his ledger, seals his fate
The walker stops, tips hat to empty air
One last footfall echoes, no-one there
Footsteps on the gravel, regular as rain
He marks each passing, starts the count again
Nine dollars cash, or tokens in his hand
The bridge don't care who owns the promised land
Toll booth silent, kudzu takes the key
Footsteps fade like grease from my grille
