Track Insight / Lyrics
Morning haze drapes the strip of
asphalt where I park my cab
A rusted bike lies there, iron tail‑fin glinting in the light,
The garage door creaks like an old scar, paint peeling yellow,
Graffiti of neon prayers doodles over its warped frame.
I've seen fare meters tick to the rhythm of city throbs,
Streets say low me the season, copper pennies dropping in gutters,
The bicycle's wheel remembers a long‑lost cyclist's tread,
Rust corroding letters, like a faded ticket air‑blown.
Bicycle whispers under my windshield, metal sighs,
Dream pop notes repeat from kalimba chords of memory,
I hear the tide of traffic dissolve, and the rust sings,
Murmurs of the old garage, a lullaby for tires.
Speaking to the city, I trade stories for clinking coins,
The bicycle's chain snaps, echoing a lonely chord,
A pigeon perches on its handle, leaves flutter in the wind,
I watch the morning bus pull away, a rhythm I know.
When the sun slides down, my taxi sighs, fades back to blue,
The bike bleeds rust like dust caught in a breeze,
I'll ride my own route, through the echoes of street gutters,
And in the garage's hush, I'll leave a whispered fare.
