I keep the orchids in a row
Where the humid currents flow
You drive the meter through the rain
Counting every passenger's pain
Between the wire and the leaf
The city is a stolen thief
We drift where the pine needles lay
Turning the gold of the day
The telephone poles stand in line
Marking the edge of the pine
I prune the stems with a steady hand
Watching the fog cover the land
The curb is a cold silver line
The streetlights are starting to shine
A fare wants the long way to town
While the heavy autumn leaves fall down
Between the wire and the leaf
The city is a stolen thief
We drift where the pine needles lay
Turning the gold of the day
The glass is warm and the air is thick
The clock on the dashboard gives a tick
One world is green and the other is grey
Both of us drifting so far away
I smell the loam and the wet earth
Knowing what every seedling is worth
You know the shortcuts to avoid the glare
Sensing the chill in the midnight air
Between the wire and the leaf
The city is a stolen thief
We drift where the pine needles lay
Turning the gold of the day
Glass and pine.
Just a long ride home.
Glass and pine.
