Two gloves rest on a wooden bench
Cold steel hums a low tide hymn
No fingers curl to grip the trench
Salt wind climbs the dim stairwell
Midnight gloves keep watch alone
Midnight gloves on concrete throne
No lantern swings no foghorn sounds
Just silence on the underground
Morning papers scatter like foam
A cleaner sweeps the tracks of grit
Gloves don't move don't leave their home
They've watched a thousand trains submit
Midnight gloves keep watch alone
Midnight gloves on concrete throne
No lantern swings no foghorn sounds
Just silence on the underground
A drunk man coughs leans on the tile
His breath a cloud in sodium glow
They don't flinch don't beg beguile
They watch the platform soft and low
Midnight gloves keep watch alone
Midnight gloves on concrete throne
No lantern swings no foghorn sounds
Just silence on the underground
Tides turn slow in tunnels deep
Keeper's eyes have closed in sleep
But leather holds the shape of hands
That guided ships from foreign lands
Last train returns with morning push
Commuters flood the yellow line
Gloves absorb the morning hush
Leather drinks the pale sunshine
Midnight gloves keep watch alone
Midnight gloves on concrete throne
No lantern swings no foghorn sounds
Just silence on the underground
Salt wind returns with evening tide
Two gloves wait where the tracks run wide
