Grey fog hugs the cobblestone square
Cold wind bites the morning air
Metal frame is peeling and thin
Where the city's secrets begin
Eighty-two was a different game
Every station had a new name
Now the ink is fading to brown
Deep beneath this sleeping old town
Rusty Roman lines on the wall
Wait for the coffee shops to call
Iron red and silver turned grey
Tracing out a lost kind of way
Old men lean on a wooden rail
Watching as the early light turns pale
Steam rises from a plastic cup
Before the sleepy waiters wake up
Rusty Roman lines on the wall
Wait for the coffee shops to call
Iron red and silver turned grey
Tracing out a lost kind of way
Tread the stone and feel the deep beat
Steel rails humming under the street
Tension breaks when the first door swings
Hear how the heavy iron bell rings
The map is a ghost of a grid
Keeping all the old transit hid
Rust eats the route to the north end
Where the crooked alleyways bend
Cobblestones hold a heavy weight
Open wide the espresso gate
The city breathes a heavy old sigh
Under a pale and wintery sky
Rusty Roman lines on the wall
Wait for the coffee shops to call
Iron red and silver turned grey
Tracing out a lost kind of way
Just a map in the morning dew
Old Roman lines, forever new
Rusty lines!
Rusty lines!
