I watch the concrete tiles turn grey.
The midnight trains all fade away.
Like Monstereira climbing high.
I wait beneath a subway sky.
I am a brass key with no door.
Waiting on a dirty floor.
Cold metal resting in the grit.
Just a piece that doesn't fit.
Three AM and the air is thick.
The clock on the wall gives a click.
I feel the damp like peat in pots.
Connecting all the lonely dots.
I am a brass key with no door.
Waiting on a dirty floor.
Cold metal resting in the grit.
Just a piece that doesn't fit.
A rat scampers by with a crumb.
The distant city hums a drum.
I root in the grime like a seed.
A heavy sort of metal need.
I am a brass key with no door.
Waiting on a dirty floor.
Cold metal resting in the grit.
Just a piece that doesn't fit.
I prune back the hope in my mind.
Leaving the rusted locks behind.
Patient as a slow growing vine.
Waiting for a sudden sign.
I am a brass key with no door.
Waiting on a dirty floor.
Cold metal resting in the grit.
Just a piece that doesn't fit.
Just a piece that doesn't fit. Keep it steady.
Yeah, just a key.
