Steel beams rust in the salt air
Cold wind strips the midway bare
One small wing of paper white
Beating fast against the night
Humming in the autumn chill
While the painted horses still
Spinning round a dead light beam
Waking from a rusted dream
Glass bulbs crack in the high heat
Dry leaves scratch the empty street
I have kept the lantern clear
Waiting for the storm to steer
Humming in the autumn chill
While the painted horses still
Spinning round a dead light beam
Waking from a rusted dream
Ticket booths are locked and tight
Pale wings flutter in the light
You are small and you are fast
Searching for a glow to last
Humming in the autumn chill
While the painted horses still
Spinning round a dead light beam
Waking from a rusted dream
Oil and wick and heavy glass
Watch the winter seasons pass
Fly away from iron gates
Where the frozen midway waits
Humming in the autumn chill
While the painted horses still
Spinning round a dead light beam
Waking from a rusted dream
Pale wing hum, pale wing hum.
Keep the light on.