You step off the curb in the gray
The midnight is stealing the day
The depot is peeling its skin
Where the ghost of the railway begins
Hold that ceramic glow tight
A small piece of gold in the night
White porcelain lighting the way
While the iron and rusted paint stray
The ticket booth window is cracked
The schedule is lost in the stack
You stand where the cold wind will blow
With nowhere left for a man to go
The coffee is black and it's hot
The only warm thing that you got
You watch as the steam hits the air
A lonely and lingering flare
Hold that ceramic glow tight
A small piece of gold in the night
White porcelain lighting the way
While the iron and rusted paint stray
The road is a circle of stone
A driver is always alone
You grip the clay rim with your hand
The last steady light in the land
The headlights are cutting the haze
The depot is lost in a maze
You leave that old cup on the shelf
A mirror of your lonely self
Hold that ceramic glow tight
A small piece of gold in the night
White porcelain lighting the way
While the iron and rusted paint stray
Just a cup on a wooden floor.
Close the door.
Close the door.
