Track Insight / Lyrics
Black coffee in a heavy cup
The sun ain't even thinking up
I flip the grill and salt the meat
While rain is drumming on the street
You sit there with a silver gear
The kind of tool that's strange and queer
You map the minutes on a page
Like birds inside a golden cage
Oh, it's three AM gold in the booth
A heavy kind of honest truth
The ticking clock and the frying pan
Two lonely souls in a broken land
You say the balance is a lie
While midnight ghosts go drifting by
I slide the plate and pour the brew
A quiet space for me and you
Oh, it's three AM gold in the booth
A heavy kind of honest truth
The ticking clock and the frying pan
Two lonely souls in a broken land
Tear the ticket, wipe the chrome
A hundred miles away from home
The brass is humming, low and deep
While all the lucky people sleep
Your fingers shake and then they hold
A tiny spring of polished gold
I watch the grease drip down the side
With nowhere left for us to hide
The regulars are gone for now
The morning light is making a bow
You close the case and leave the light
We survived another heavy night
Oh, it's three AM gold in the booth
A heavy kind of honest truth
The ticking clock and the frying pan
Two lonely souls in a broken land
Just keep it slow.
Three AM gold.
(Foot-thump fade)
