Spatula flips on the grill tonight
Fresh black coffee in the morning light
The regular crowd takes a corner seat
While the tractors roll down the dusty street
Suns dipping low past the silos high
Orange and purple paint the summer sky
One by one the streetlights glow
Watch the little town start to grow
Gold on the wire, humming a tune
Under the ghost of a rising moon
I wipe the counter with a damp gray rag
Heavy old bags make the shoulders sag
New paved roads cut through the clover field
Waiting to see what the harvest will yield
Suns dipping low past the silos high
Orange and purple paint the summer sky
One by one the streetlights glow
Watch the little town start to grow
Gold on the wire, humming a tune
Under the ghost of a rising moon
You bring the mail with a tired kind of smile
I haven't seen you in a long long while
The diesel fumes mix with the scent of fry
While the last red bird takes a flight on high
The grid clicks on with a steady snap
Mapping the world on a digital map
From the dirt path to the storefront glass
Watching the quiet moments slowly pass
One by one the streetlights glow
Watch the little town start to grow
Gold on the wire, humming a tune
Under the ghost of a rising moon
The diner door swings with a rusty sound
Heavy black boots hit the gravel ground
We pour the brew in a ceramic cup
Wait for the sleeping valley to wake up
One by one the streetlights glow
Watch the little town start to grow
Gold on the wire, humming a tune
Under the ghost of a rising moon
Keep the coffee hot.
Just a little more gold.
Lights on.