Silver spokes in a heavy gray haze
Counting down all the long summer days
Old train depot with the roof hanging low
Watching the slow river current still flow
Under the peeling paint of the eaves
Hiding away while the willow tree heaves
Steel frame is shaking in a cold sudden gust
Chrome on the handle is covered in rust
Rubber tires on a cracked concrete floor
Leaning back by the wide open door
Saddle is leather and worn to a thread
Counting the clouds moving over his head
Under the peeling paint of the eaves
Hiding away while the willow tree heaves
Steel frame is shaking in a cold sudden gust
Chrome on the handle is covered in rust
Copper bells on the track start to ring
Heavy wet air makes the telephone sing
Wiping the water from a glass outer lens
Waiting for where the long highway ends
A ticket stub left in a wooden old slot
A memory tied in a tight heavy knot
The coffee is bitter and black in the pot
The heat of the morning is all that he got
Yellow lines on the road start to blur
Hearing the engine begin a low purr
Tightening straps on a nylon black pack
Ready to ride on the old gravel track
Under the peeling paint of the eaves
Hiding away while the willow tree heaves
Steel frame is shaking in a cold sudden gust
Chrome on the handle is covered in rust
Sunlight is breaking through layers of blue
Turning the gray of the station to new
One last look back at the peeling white wall
Hearing the distant and lonely bird call
Under the peeling paint of the eaves
Hiding away while the willow tree heaves
Steel frame is shaking in a cold sudden gust
Chrome on the handle is covered in rust
Just a bit of rust.
Peeling paint and dust.
Ride away.
