The brass gears turn inside my head.
The midnight oil is burning red.
I leave the workbench and the oil.
The copper wires begin to coil.
Wait for the light to turn a gold.
A story that was never told.
The ticking clock is moving slow.
We have no place left now to go.
The humming pump is singing loud.
A silver lining on a cloud.
I buy a coffee in a cup.
The sleepy moon is waking up.
Wait for the light to turn a gold.
A story that was never told.
The ticking clock is moving slow.
We have no place left now to go.
You lean against the plastic door.
I count the tiles upon the floor.
The wind is shaking every pane.
I smell the ozone and the rain.
Wait for the light to turn a gold.
A story that was never told.
The ticking clock is moving slow.
We have no place left now to go.
Swing of the pendulum, high and low.
Where the wild indigo flowers grow.
Pull back the curtain, open the gate.
Hold on a second, it is not too late.
The diesel smoke is thick and gray.
We watch the headlights fade away.
I wind the spring inside my wrist.
A moment that we both have missed.
Wait for the light to turn a gold.
A story that was never told.
The ticking clock is moving slow.
We have no place left now to go.
Just glass and gasoline.
The cleanest glow I've seen.
(Humming fade out)
