Steel wire humming in the wind.
Where the dizzy heights begin.
Wet boots clicking on the tile.
I have walked a weary mile.
Spin the drum and wash the gray.
Wash the working hours away.
Turn the dial and feel the heat.
Rhythm of the rainy street.
Copper coins in a plastic slot.
The humid air is thick and hot.
White sheets tumbling in a blur.
Wait until the motors purr.
I hold the line and feel the shake.
A fragile bond about to break.
You watch the bubbles rise and fall.
Leaning on a whitewashed wall.
Spin the drum and wash the gray.
Wash the working hours away.
Turn the dial and feel the heat.
Rhythm of the rainy street.
The brass is muted, the light is dim.
The water fills up to the brim.
Step off the wire and touch the ground.
The only peace that can be found.
Fold the cotton, warm and dry.
Underneath a charcoal sky.
Hand in hand by the sliding door.
I don't need the height no more.
Spin the drum and wash the gray.
Wash the working hours away.
Turn the dial and feel the heat.
Rhythm of the rainy street.
Heavy water, spin it low.
Heavy water, let it go. Let it go.
Let it go.
