You land on the peeling white paint
A ghost where the signal is faint
The depot is rusted and old
The air is a damp kind of cold
You are a pale wing in the gray
Waiting for the light of the day
Sifting through the soil and the grit
Finding where the puzzle pieces fit
Like *Monarda* blooming in red
You wake from a concrete-slab bed
Your antennae twitch in the breeze
You move with a natural ease
You are a pale wing in the gray
Waiting for the light of the day
Sifting through the soil and the grit
Finding where the puzzle pieces fit
The train tracks are buried in weed
A dormant and desperate seed
You flutter by old iron rails
While the evening color now pales
You are a pale wing in the gray
Waiting for the light of the day
Sifting through the soil and the grit
Finding where the puzzle pieces fit
You circle a flickering bulb
A hunger you cannot engulf
One touch and the powder will fly
Under a heavy lead sky
I watch how you cling to the wall
Waiting for the summer to fall
No Latin name fits how you feel
A soft kind of truth in the steel
The *Sedge* grows in clumps by the door
You don't want the light anymore
Just a place where the loam is deep
And the tired locomotives sleep
You are a pale wing in the gray
Waiting for the light of the day
Sifting through the soil and the grit
Finding where the puzzle pieces fit
Just a pale wing in the gray
Just a pale wing, drift away
Drift away
Drift away
