You wipe the grill at four a.m.
Coffee steam curls round the stem
The regulars don't ask for much
Just eggs and toast and human touch
But downstairs where the yellow tiles gleam
A machine types out a dream
No fingers guide the metal keys
Just wind and time and subterranean breeze
Platform keys click slow and deep
While the city's fast asleep
Every letter finds its place
In the dark and dusty space
You know the cook who works the night
His bacon crisp his coffee tight
He saw the case on platform three
Left behind by someone free
But downstairs where the yellow tiles gleam
A machine types out a dream
No fingers guide the metal keys
Just wind and time and subterranean breeze
Platform keys click slow and deep
While the city's fast asleep
Every letter finds its place
In the dark and dusty space
The ribbon's red the paper white
Keys strike soft in absent light
A story builds with no hand to guide
Just tunnels where the letters hide
Morning comes with screech and grind
Commuters rush leave words behind
But the typewriter stays its ground
Till the next lost soul writes it down
Click by click the pages mount
Dawn arrives on letter count
Platform keys click slow and deep
While the city's fast asleep
Every letter finds its place
In the dark and dusty space
You clock out when the sun climbs high
Grease stains fade on apron tie
But you'll hear that rhythm still
Clicking underneath the hill
Platform keys click slow and deep
While the city's fast asleep
Every letter finds its place
In the dark and dusty space
Platform keys click slow and deep
While the city's fast asleep
Click return click return
The platform types its slow return
