He stands by the spinning drum
Where the white cotton sheets hum
Cold water leaks from the wall
While the heavy raindrops fall
Oh, he plays a rusty bow
Where the midnight currents flow
Silver strings turn black as ink
Standing on a jagged brink
Case is open on the street
Wet leather on tired feet
Copper coins in a velvet tray
Watching all the colors gray
Oh, he plays a rusty bow
Where the midnight currents flow
Silver strings turn black as ink
Standing on a jagged brink
Washing machines shake the floor
Someone locks the sliding door
Soap suds swirl in a plastic bin
While the winter wind kicks in
Oh, he plays a rusty bow
Where the midnight currents flow
Silver strings turn black as ink
Standing on a jagged brink
Old wood warps in the damp air
Cigarette smoke in his hair
One last note for a ghost to keep
While the tired city falls asleep
Oh, he plays a rusty bow
Where the midnight currents flow
Silver strings turn black as ink
Standing on a jagged brink
Silver strings turn black as ink Slowing down
Slowing down
