Chrome is rusting in the gray.
Eighteen wheels just stop for today.
Cold wind bites the diesel skin.
Where the heavy fog rolls in.
Under the pier where the tide runs slow.
Hidden from winds that the city blow.
Heavy the load and the road is wide.
Waiting for gold on a turning tide.
Meter's clicking in the rain.
City traffic is a chain.
I've seen fares from north to south.
Tasting salt inside my mouth.
Under the pier where the tide runs slow.
Hidden from winds that the city blow.
Heavy the load and the road is wide.
Waiting for gold on a turning tide.
Diesel fumes and coffee black.
Counting miles on a one way track.
Logbooks open on the seat.
Resting legs and tired feet.
The water laps the wooden beam.
A quiet place to hold a scheme.
No more sirens, no more glare.
Just the damp and salty air.
Shift the gear and turn the wheel.
Life is measured out in steel.
Take a shortcut through the haze.
Lost inside a concrete maze.
Under the pier where the tide runs slow.
Hidden from winds that the city blow.
Heavy the load and the road is wide.
Waiting for gold on a turning tide.
Check the mirror, check the light.
Driving through the velvet night.
Old proverbs for a lonely road.
Carry light to lift the load.
Under the pier where the tide runs slow.
Hidden from winds that the city blow.
Heavy the load and the road is wide.
Waiting for gold on a turning tide.
The fog is lifting from the bay.
I'll drive until the break of day. Turning tide.
Turning tide.
