You find it by the granite wall
Where amber maple leaves will fall
A faded card in weathered white
Holding on with all its might
Oh, the ink is turning grey
Like a tide that pulls away
You are standing in the cold
Reading stories left untold
The salt air tastes of distant shores
Open wide the harbor doors
You touch the paper thin and old
While the Boston wind turns bold
The ink has bled into the grain
Washed by autumn silver rain
You trace the lines of where they flew
Bringing back a ghost of you
Oh, the ink is turning grey
Like a tide that pulls away
You are standing in the cold
Reading stories left untold
A steady lamp across the foam
Guides the weary sailor home
Break the chain and set it free
Sail away to open sea
You lift the card from off the street
Where the brick and pavement meet
The city hums a heavy sound
While you keep your feet on ground
Oh, the ink is turning grey
Like a tide that pulls away
You are standing in the cold
Reading stories left untold
Red brick corner.
Let it go.
Let it go.
