You lean on a wall of peeling grey
Where the iron rails just rot away
Your spruce top is cracked like desert soil
While the engine grease begins to boil
You are the resin and the rust
A golden voice hidden in the dust
Wait for the bow to make you sing
And wake the ghost of a copper string
Your varnish is chipped like a garden wall
Where the wild ivy starts to crawl
You smell like old pine and ancient glue
A dormant seed waiting for the dew
You are the resin and the rust
A golden voice hidden in the dust
Wait for the bow to make you sing
And wake the ghost of a copper string
The station clock stopped at half past four
Right by the hinge of a heavy door
You hold the hum of a midnight train
Deep in the grain through the summer rain
Like a rare orchid in a concrete hall
You stand your ground while the ceilings fall
No one remembers the song you knew
But the soil is rich and the hope is true
Your f-holes are clogged with a winter grit
Where the lonely moths and the beetles sit
But the maple heart is a steady beat
Counting the steps of the passing feet
You are the resin and the rust
A golden voice hidden in the dust
Wait for the bow to make you sing
And wake the ghost of a copper string
I'll prune back the weeds from your wooden case
And wipe the salt from your polished face
We'll plant a new rhythm in the cold clay
And carry the heavy silence away
You are the resin and the rust
A golden voice hidden in the dust
Wait for the bow to make you sing
And wake the ghost of a copper string
Just one more note.
Let it ring out.
Resin and rust.
