Brown hide curled on a wooden seat.
Hiding from the midday summer heat.
Peeling paint on the station wall.
Waiting for a whistle or a call.
Leather on the bench in the wind.
Waiting where the iron tracks begin.
Leather on the bench in the rain.
Holding out a hope for one last train.
Stitched up tight with a heavy thread.
Tattered edges where the dye has bled.
Cold wind blows through the open door.
Rattling the boards of the depot floor.
Leather on the bench in the wind.
Waiting where the iron tracks begin.
Leather on the bench in the rain.
Holding out a hope for one last train.
A rusted clock stuck at quarter past.
Looking for a grip that's meant to last.
Grey smoke drifts from a distant hill.
Everything around is standing still.
Oil on the rail and a salty breeze.
Bending all the yellow willow trees.
Tied to a ghost of a long gone day.
Watching all the colors fade to grey.
No one comes to claim a pair of hands.
Left behind in these forgotten lands.
Hardened skin and a salted seam.
Waking from a dead and heavy dream.
Leather on the bench in the wind.
Waiting where the iron tracks begin.
Leather on the bench in the rain.
Holding out a hope for one last train.
Copper bells ringing in the town.
Heavy winter rain is coming down.
Tied in a knot by a weathered string.
Waiting for the winter bell to ring.
Leather on the bench in the wind.
Waiting where the iron tracks begin.
Leather on the bench in the rain.
Holding out a hope for one last train.
Just leather on the bench.
Waiting for the train.
Waitin' for the train.
