I hold the line of salt and weed
A heavy hinge for every need
I feel the diesel shake the ground
The loudest engine in the town
He pulls his rig behind the shed
Where wild green vines have long since spread
He leans his back against the wall
And watches autumn leaflets fall
I am the gate that keeps the cold
A piece of iron turning gold
He finds a shelter in the shade
Where all the garden debts are paid
He smells of coffee and the road
A heavy heart, a heavy load
He stares at weeds that hide the stone
A quiet place to be alone
I am the gate that keeps the cold
A piece of iron turning gold
He finds a shelter in the shade
Where all the garden debts are paid
The workshop roof is leaking slow
The winter wind begins to blow
He closes eyes to see the coast
The kind of peace he misses most
I feel his fingers touch my rust
A sudden spark within the dust
He does not speak a single word
The only sound the blackbird heard
The truck is idling in the rain
A humming song to ease the pain
He wipes the glass to see the light
Before he drives into the night
I am the gate that keeps the cold
A piece of iron turning gold
He finds a shelter in the shade
Where all the garden debts are paid
Just iron and the weed
The only thing he'll need
The Rusty Gate.
