An old iron stair of rusted red
Where the summer heat makes the city bed
Tucked in a corner out of the glare
A polished brass tube is waiting there
Look through the glass at the copper sky
Watch as the heavy gold hours go by
Telescope dreaming of a distant shore
Finding the things that we can't find no more
He hides it away from the concrete street
Where the asphalt burns on his bare old feet
A lens made of crystal and a steady hand
Searching for lines of a vanished land
Look through the glass at the copper sky
Watch as the heavy gold hours go by
Telescope dreaming of a distant shore
Finding the things that we can't find no more
The dusk turns to purple and the air gets thick
The clock on the corner gives a heavy tick
He aims for the attic of a brick-walled room
Where the yellow jasmine is starting to bloom
Forget the subway and the diesel smoke
The city is only a cruel kind of joke
He wants the valley and the river bed
The ghost of a map inside of his head
He captures a frame in a steady sight
Before the blue evening turns into the night
A snapshot of salt and a white sandy hill
While the rest of the neighborhood is standing still
Look through the glass at the copper sky
Watch as the heavy gold hours go by
Telescope dreaming of a distant shore
Finding the things that we can't find no more
The brass turns to black as the sun sinks low
He packs up the lens with a steady slow
Under the fire escape he finds his peace
Waiting for the heavy city noise to cease
Look through the glass at the copper sky
Watch as the heavy gold hours go by
Telescope dreaming of a distant shore
Finding the things that we can't find no more
Just a brass tube in the dark.
Keep it in focus.
Finding the shore.
