Track Insight / Lyrics
I wake where grease and river dust
And cling beside the yellow rust
A cook drops half his buttered toast
Then laughs at every empty ghost
The clock above the booths says three
And stirs the shadows under me
Oh, I grow on the cold north stone
Where daylight never goes
One warm cup leaves silver roots
And the old regular knows
She laughs and the whole room slows
Then I curl around her boots
The blue neon leaks on me
A paper cup lies sideways
Her sugar sticks like glue
And drips where morning shadows hide
The jukebox coughs a brass refrain
While rain drums pipes beyond the pane
The midnight bus hums past
Its headlights skim my ridge
A window fogs from breath inside
Like fingerprints that warm my side
A little moth circles the glass
And bumps the moon with velvet bass
Oh, I grow on the cold north stone
Where daylight never goes
One warm cup leaves silver roots
And the old regular knows
She laughs and the whole room slows
Then I curl around her boots
For years I faced the freezing wall
No sun could warm my stony side
Then you poured coffee, cream and all
And steam curled round me, soft and small
I cannot leave this narrow place
But drink the dark from every trace
The kitchen radio plays
A weatherman predicts more haze
Your Sunday paper covers me
A crossword damp and slightly gray
You laugh, that moss can hardly breathe
And leave your morning tea beneath me
Oh, I grow on the cold north stone
Where daylight never goes
One warm cup leaves silver roots
And the old regular knows
Her laughter rolls the smoky room
And every winter finds me home
Oh, I grow on the cold north stone
Where daylight never goes
Now the morning finds the street alive
While silver dawn begins to thrive
I loosen one green thread each night
And keep your fingerprints in sight
The diner wakes with clatter
The coffee starts to settle faster
