The ticket booth is peeling gray.
The autumn wind blows gold away.
I hold your letter in my hand.
A map of this forgotten land.
Ride the wheel into the black.
Walk the road and don't look back.
Iron gates are locked and tight.
Hold the ghost of summer light.
The cotton candy stands are bare.
A heavy scent of damp is there.
Your ink is blurred by falling dew.
The lines are old and far from true.
Ride the wheel into the black.
Walk the road and don't look back.
Iron gates are locked and tight.
Hold the ghost of summer light.
The painted horses frozen still.
A sudden shiver, sudden chill.
You wrote that love is just a game.
And left me here to bear the shame.
Ride the wheel into the black.
Walk the road and don't look back.
Iron gates are locked and tight.
Hold the ghost of summer light.
The cable snaps a heavy sound.
The dead leaves cover all the ground.
I burn the page to feel the heat.
The winter air is cold and sweet.
The midway path is overgrown.
I face the coming storm alone.
The paper ash is blowing fast.
The heavy weight is gone at last.
Ride the wheel into the black.
Walk the road and don't look back.
Iron gates are locked and tight.
Hold the ghost of summer light.
Rust and rain, rust and rain.
Wash away the old blue stain.
Rust and rain.
