You cling to a rusted piling post
Wings folded thin like cigarette ghost
The bay mist soaks your dusty antenna
Fog horns moan off Alcatraz peninsula
Pale wing in the mist you ride
Salt air holds you tight and wide
No beam sweeps this deep below
Just the hush of undertow
Barnacles scrape your velvet coat
Tide rises slow around your throat
The pier lights bleed through foggy glass
You wait the dark the long hours pass
Pale wing in the mist you ride
Salt air holds you tight and wide
No beam sweeps this deep below
Just the hush of undertow
I trimmed the wick on Bonita Light
Thirty years through storm and night
Never saw a thing so frail
Ride the surge and live to tell the tale
Foghorn blows its low mourning
Cables hum without warning
You're still there when dawn breaks gray
Another night you've slipped away
Morning paints the cables rust red
Sun burns through the mist you dread
Your wings unfold to catch the heat
Salt crystals shine on each fine feat
Pale wing in the mist you ride
Salt air holds you tight and wide
No beam sweeps this deep below
Just the hush of undertow
Keepers die but lights stay burning
Ships still need the safe returning
You're a speck the bay won't swallow
Just a moth beneath the hollow
Pale wing in the mist you ride
Salt air holds you tight and wide
No beam sweeps this deep below
Just the hush of undertow
Tide pulls out the mist retreats
You fly off where the horizon meets
