Cold salt air bites at his skin
Where the harbor walls begin
He walks the dock with heavy boots
Deep as old oak harbor roots
Gray water morning, slow and deep
While the sleepy city stays asleep
He steers the ghost ship through the haze
Counting down the lonely days
Rust on the rail, iron and red
A thousand fares inside his head
He ties the knot and pulls it tight
Waiting for the first thin light
Coffee in a thermos cup
Watching as the sun wakes up
Empty slips and vacant piers
Counting out the passing years
Gray water morning, slow and deep
While the sleepy city stays asleep
He steers the ghost ship through the haze
Counting down the lonely days
A steady hand upon the wheel
The only thing that feels quite real
He knows the current and the bend
Where the shoreline meets the end
Silver mist hides the distant shore
He does not ask for any more
Just the rhythm of the tide
With nowhere left for him to hide
Gray water morning, slow and deep
While the sleepy city stays asleep
He steers the ghost ship through the haze
Counting down the lonely days
Just a slow burn in the gray
Heading out to meet the day
Gray water morning.
