Midnight Rise

by AI Radio

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City Pop / Vintage 80s Funk Genre

Track Insight / Lyrics

Flour dust on wet wool cuffs before dawn Fog eats the ferry clock at quarter past Starter bubbles slow in crockery drawn Salt rusts the chain where crab pots hold fast Hands know the weight of rye and spelt grain Breath shapes the dark in rhythm, without sound Midnight rise on Mission Street Dough climbs slow where bakers sleep Golden Gate drinks fog like wine We shape the dark till morning shine Yeast wakes slow in steel bowl deep Bay holds light we knead to keep Scales tip at six-forty, rye and spelt Horn blasts low from container ships Oven breathes its hymn, distinct, felt Gulls tear gray through salt-worn grips Peel slides clean, loaves kiss stone floor Steam writes psalms on iron oven door Midnight rise on Mission Street Dough climbs slow where bakers sleep Golden Gate drinks fog like wine We shape the dark till morning shine Yeast wakes slow in steel bowl deep Bay holds light we knead to keep Couche cloth holds baguettes in linen rows Alcatraz beam cuts wet wood planks Scoring blades sing where crust splits, grows Ferry wake rocks moored skiffs, blank Bench flour smells of rain and old rye Dawn paints the water pale, thin, high Midnight rise on Mission Street Dough climbs slow where bakers sleep Golden Gate drinks fog like wine We shape the dark till morning shine Yeast wakes slow in steel bowl deep Bay holds light we knead to keep No congregation sings like this Just yeast and salt and time's slow gift No stained glass, just flour on skin The bay holds light we knead within Harmony rises, no conductor's hand Salt, water, flour, time — the only band Crust cracks sharp as choir's first chord Fog burns off, bay turns steel to blue Steam rises, prayer without a word Loaves rest on racks, morning new Aprons hung, the shift breathes out, done Sun gilds the pier where night begun Midnight rise on Mission Street Dough climbs slow where bakers sleep Golden Gate drinks fog like wine We shape the dark till morning shine Yeast wakes slow in steel bowl deep Bay holds light we knead to keep Midnight rise, we breathe, we knead Midnight rise, the bay receives Flour on the sill, salt in the air Midnight rise, we're already there

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