Old depot paint is peeling white.
Cold wind is cutting through the night.
The iron tracks are frozen gray.
The morning light is far away.
Rusty iron rain on the floor.
Waiting by a heavy door.
Still he stands and holds his place.
Steel and salt upon his face.
He holds a handle worn and thin.
The copper skin is caving in.
A hollow belly made of tin.
Where all the winter storms begin.
Rusty iron rain on the floor.
Waiting by a heavy door.
Still he stands and holds his place.
Steel and salt upon his face.
The steam is gone the coal is dead.
The heavy clouds are hanging lead.
He remembers how the water flowed.
Down the long and dusty road.
Rusty iron rain on the floor.
Waiting by a heavy door.
Still he stands and holds his place.
Steel and salt upon his face.
A jagged crack across the side.
Nowhere left for him to hide.
Patient as a driver's fare.
Hanging in the frozen air.
Rusty iron rain on the floor.
Waiting by a heavy door.
Still he stands and holds his place.
Steel and salt upon his face.
Hold your place.
Hold your place.
Wait for the rain.
