Last train left the station floor
Steel shut tight the heavy door
Cold wind blows the concrete grit
Where the yellow markers sit
White paper folding in the gray
Washed out by the end of day
Small white wings that cannot fly
Underneath a tunnel sky
Kid left it by the ticket line
Bent across a warning sign
Wet ink bleeds a jagged blue
Something old and something new
White paper folding in the gray
Washed out by the end of day
Small white wings that cannot fly
Underneath a tunnel sky
I have driven every street
Where the oil and water meet
Told the fares that life is fast
Nothing built is meant to last
White paper folding in the gray
Washed out by the end of day
Small white wings that cannot fly
Underneath a tunnel sky
Tear it down or let it stay
Until the sweepers clear the way
One small fold of white and thin
Where the city noises spin
White paper folding in the gray
Washed out by the end of day
Small white wings that cannot fly
Underneath a tunnel sky
Paper wings down
Down in the gray
Just blow away
