Wooden chair and a peeling white paint.
Heavy breath and a spirit grown faint.
Tattered shirt with a coffee stained rim.
Looking out where the horizon is dim.
I am rusting slow in the summer rain.
Counting every drop like a heavy chain.
Salty water runs down a weathered face.
Stuck inside of this quiet little place.
Silver hair like a storm on the coast.
Of the ocean you love the absolute most.
Old brass buttons all tarnished and green.
The strangest man that I have ever seen.
I am rusting slow in the summer rain.
Counting every drop like a heavy chain.
Salty water runs down a weathered face.
Stuck inside of this quiet little place.
I take photos of boots on the floor.
And the lock on a heavy oak door.
You tell stories of whales in the deep.
While the rest of the neighborhood sleep.
I am rusting slow in the summer rain.
Counting every drop like a heavy chain.
Salty water runs down a weathered face.
Stuck inside of this quiet little place.
Lightning strikes on a copper wire line.
You say everything is doing just fine.
But your hands shake when you reach for the tea.
Like you're longing to drift on the sea.
Click the shutter and hold it right there.
Static humming and electric air.
Two strangers under one leaking roof.
In the grainy film we find the proof.
Metal hinges that creak in the gale.
A forgotten and torn cotton sail.
You are leaning back in your old seat.
While the storm makes the afternoon complete.
I am rusting slow in the summer rain.
Counting every drop like a heavy chain.
Salty water runs down a weathered face.
Stuck inside of this quiet little place.
Just a snapshot of salt and of rust.
Turning all of the memories to dust.
(Snap)
Salty air.
