Coffee is black and the grill is hot
Counting the hours in this parking lot
Far off the thunder is shaking the glass
Waiting for something that never will pass
Iron and oil and a helmet of gray
Sinking in sludge at the end of the day
Cold as a stone in a river of red
Counting the living and naming the dead
Grease on my apron and salt on the skin
Watching the regulars let the night in
One man is shaking and staring at air
Looking for something that is no longer there
Blue sparks are flying from a broken machine
Fields of the valley are no longer green
Heavy boots marching through a valley of rust
Turning the medals to a handful of dust
Iron and oil and a helmet of gray
Sinking in sludge at the end of the day
Cold as a stone in a river of red
Counting the living and naming the dead
The sky is a ceiling of heavy old lead
A hunger for home that can never be fed
Sift through the ashes and find a gold ring
Listen to how the dead batteries sing
Flip every burger and wipe down the slate
The clock on the wall says it is getting late
Out in the distance the big cannons roar
Someone is knocking on a heavy steel door
Iron and oil and a helmet of gray
Sinking in sludge at the end of the day
Cold as a stone in a river of red
Counting the living and naming the dead
Just a helmet in the mud.
Just a helmet in the mud.
(Pedal steel fade)
