Three a-m in a vinyl seat
Where the coffee and the grease meet
A tiny ghost in a velvet gray
Tracing lines till the break of day
Oh you drift like a seed on the breeze
Moving slow with a natural ease
Searching for a light you can hold
In a world that is clinical cold
You are like the Lunaria white
Ghostly bloom in the dead of night
Beating fast on a laminate edge
Walking blind on a narrow ledge
I know how to wait for the root
To push through the clay for the fruit
I can watch your pale orbit spin
Where the glass ends and the air begins
Oh you drift like a seed on the breeze
Moving slow with a natural ease
Searching for a light you can hold
In a world that is clinical cold
The salt on the table is white
Like the powder of a moth in flight
No more walls and no more locked doors
Just the wind on the prairie floors
Now the door swings open and wide
Let the midnight current be your guide
Leave the sugar and the chrome behind
Leave the heavy human worries behind
Oh you drift like a seed on the breeze
Moving slow with a natural ease
Searching for a light you can hold
In a world that is clinical cold
Fly away to the open loam
Find a place to call your own Pale wing trace.
Pale wing trace.
