Track Insight / Lyrics
Marcus counts the ceiling tiles
Fluorescent buzz and lonely aisles
A quarter jingles in his hand
The only sound in this dry land
Rain on glass, the washers turn
A pocket watch he'll never learn
To slow the hands or stop the spin
The night keeps folding him back in
He folds a shirt that no one owns
The vending machine hums and groans
A sock rolls loose behind the drum
He waits for morning light to come
Rain on glass, the washers turn
A pocket watch he'll never learn
To slow the hands or stop the spin
The night keeps folding him back in
The window shakes with every gust
A coffee cup gone gray with rust
He watches gutters overflow
And counts the things he'll never know
Some men guard gold, some guard the shore
He guards a linoleum floor
The storm will pass, the sun will climb
He's traded hours for his time
A woman runs in soaked and cold
She feeds the slot a coin of gold
She smiles at him, he tips his cap
Two strangers in a folded map
Rain on glass, the washers turn
A pocket watch he'll never learn
To slow the hands or stop the spin
The night keeps folding him back in
The sky goes pale above the street
He hears the rumble of defeat
The rain lets up, the washers stop
He wrings the quiet like a mop
Rain on glass, the washers turn
A pocket watch he'll never learn
To slow the hands or stop the spin
The morning folds him out again
Rain on glass, the shift is through
The light comes creeping in on cue
