I am the salt on the rusted gate
Watching the hour get heavy and late
He drags his boots through the grey grit floor
He does not knock on the heavy door
He keeps the lens of the tower clean
The strangest man that I've ever seen
He talks to birds in the cooling breeze
While shaking hands and shaking his knees
Hold up the light in the indigo haze
Counting the seconds and counting the days
Sinking deep down in the gravel and grit
Waiting for something to finally hit
He carves a name in the shoreline mud
The tide comes in with a salty flood
He wears a coat that is frayed at the seam
Walking alone in a wide awake dream
Hold up the light in the indigo haze
Counting the seconds and counting the days
Sinking deep down in the gravel and grit
Waiting for something to finally hit
The white paint peels from the wooden rail
The wind is high and the lanterns fail
He turns around to the driveway stone
Screaming a song that he sings all alone
He finds a coin in the pocket fold
A piece of copper and a piece of gold
He lets it drop on the jagged ground
The only thing that makes a hollow sound
The purple sky turns a deeper shade
The debts of winter are finally paid
He leans his head on the cold iron post
Looking for something he misses the most
Hold up the light in the indigo haze
Counting the seconds and counting the days
Sinking deep down in the gravel and grit
Waiting for something to finally hit
Gravel and glass.
The light in the haze.
Gravel and glass.
