I caught the midnight bus to the bay
A polaroid tint on a winter day
The pier is shaking under my shoes
I'm chasing a rhythm I can't afford to lose
I sit in a case made of velvet and gold
A story of resin and varnish untold
The wind tastes of brine and the rust of the chain
I wait for a hand to release all the strain
Salt water strings in the harbor breeze
Swaying slow like the willow trees
Salty air on a wooden bow
Where the cold Atlantic currents flow
I frame the gray water in a plastic square
The smell of old diesel is thick in the air
I see a dark case by the edge of the dock
The waves hit the piling like a ticking clock
Salt water strings in the harbor breeze
Swaying slow like the willow trees
Salty air on a wooden bow
Where the cold Atlantic currents flow
Touch the grain of the maple wood
I would play for the city if I only could
One sharp click of the shutter light
Turning the morning into the night
I feel the vibration of a distant bell
A secret the shoreline is longing to tell
I dream of a concert in a velvet hall
While watching the white foam tumble and fall
I lean in closer to see the fine line
The curve of the scroll and the ancient design
I leave a small print on the wet concrete
Where the salt and the city finally meet
Salt water strings in the harbor breeze
Swaying slow like the willow trees
Salty air on a wooden bow
Where the cold Atlantic currents flow
Just a snapshot of the pier.
Keep the focus clear.
Salt water strings.
(Fade out)
