You stand where the third rail is cold.
A story that never was told.
The last train has gone to the west.
Now you and the iron can rest.
You are a tugboat out of the deep.
Where the subway secrets all sleep.
Rust on the hull and a salt-stained bow.
You are the only ghost here now.
The concrete is gray as a stone.
You face the long midnight alone.
No harbor to guide you back home.
No blue water left for to roam.
You are a tugboat out of the deep.
Where the subway secrets all sleep.
Rust on the hull and a salt-stained bow.
You are the only ghost here now.
The oil on the floor is a stain.
It looks like the grease from a train.
You wait for a tide that won't rise.
Under the flicker of electric skies.
Old wheels turn a circle of grit.
The light in the tunnel is lit.
A spark in the dark is a sign.
You still hold the weight of the line.
You smell like a dock in the rain.
A heavy and salt-bitten pain.
The commuters all rushed to the door.
They don't see the boat on the floor.
You are a tugboat out of the deep.
Where the subway secrets all sleep.
Rust on the hull and a salt-stained bow.
You are the only ghost here now.
The morning will bring back the crowd.
The engines will scream long and loud.
But you keep your head in the haze.
Counting the slow and the gray days.
You are a tugboat out of the deep.
Where the subway secrets all sleep.
Rust on the hull and a salt-stained bow.
You are the only ghost here now.
Just a rust bucket on the line.
Everything is doing fine.
Keep the meter running.
