Salt air eats my iron frame
Fog rolls in to hide my name
Wooden slats are turning grey
Watching all the ships sail away
Rocking slow in the bay mist
Iron joints with a cold twist
Sinking deep in the wet sand
Far away from the dry land
Copper bolts are turning green
Worst decay you've ever seen
Tide comes in to wash the floor
I don't move for people anymore
Seals are barking at the tide
Nowhere left for me to hide
Cold wind bites through every seam
Heavy metal, waking dream
Rocking slow in the bay mist
Iron joints with a cold twist
Sinking deep in the wet sand
Far away from the dry land
Paint is peeling off my back
Every timber starts to crack
Heave the weight of heavy years
Salty water, frozen gears
Golden Gate is far and gold
I am just a thing grown old
Mist is thick and white as bone
Sitting on this pier alone
Rocking slow in the bay mist
Iron joints with a cold twist
Sinking deep in the wet sand
Far away from the dry land
Just a ghost of a summer day.
Let the current take me away.
Sinking low.
Sinking low.
