I flip the grill at half past three
The coffee pot is humming free
The midnight crowd is thin and slow
The yellow street lamps start to glow
Ink on the page and oil on the pan
Two lonely souls in a midnight plan
Different worlds but the same slow beat
Where the archives meet the city street
I lean my bike against the wall
The basement air is cool and tall
I hide away from winter wind
Where all the old records are pinned
Ink on the page and oil on the pan
Two lonely souls in a midnight plan
Different worlds but the same slow beat
Where the archives meet the city street
You bring me water in a glass
I watch the heavy minutes pass
You smell of old glue and dry ink
I smell of bacon by the sink
The clock on the wall doesn't move
We found a steady rhythmic groove
No need for words or a fancy line
Just a moment where the stars align
Your fingers trace a faded map
My apron holds a grease-stained gap
We talk of roads we never took
Reading lives like a dusty book
Ink on the page and oil on the pan
Two lonely souls in a midnight plan
Different worlds but the same slow beat
Where the archives meet the city street
The sun is creeping through the blind
The morning rush is hard to find
I pack my gear and head for the door
You go back to the cellar floor
Ink on the page and oil on the pan
Two lonely souls in a midnight plan
Different worlds but the same slow beat
Where the archives meet the city street
Paper and grease.
Just a moment of peace.
The same slow beat.
