I sit beneath the wooden floor
Right beside the heavy door
The storm is hitting like a fist
In a gray and salty mist
I am rust on the plastic reel
Telling truths that the metals feel
Turning slow in a steady spin
Where the water lets the weather in
I held a song from eighty-four
Now I can't sing it anymore
The magnetic tape is turning brown
While the thunder shakes the town
A taxi driver drove the beat
Down a wet and lonely street
He left me here in the heavy damp
Underneath a rusted lamp
I am rust on the plastic reel
Telling truths that the metals feel
Turning slow in a steady spin
Where the water lets the weather in
The porch is shaking in the gale
My plastic skin is turning pale
But the groove is still deep inside
With nowhere left for me to hide
The wind is howling through the pine
I am crossing a jagged line
Just a relic of a golden age
Torn out from a dusty page
I am rust on the plastic reel
Telling truths that the metals feel
Turning slow in a steady spin
Where the water lets the weather in
Just a reel in the rain.
Keep it spinning, keep it slow.
(Brass stab)
