You watch the copper beech turn gold
Headset pressed against the cold
Each footfall hits a measured beat
History tuned to your street
Pavement writes what tires repeat
Sidewalk frequency coming clear
Three hundred years you track right here
Tourist heels and local soles
Write the signal the city knows
Every step a tone that grows
Rain slicks the herringbone pattern deep
Promises the night will keep
Your logbook fills with rhythm lines
Every step a familiar sign
Cobblestone memory aligns
Sidewalk frequency coming clear
Three hundred years you track right here
Tourist heels and local soles
Write the signal the city knows
Every step a tone that grows
Morning rush at seven sharp
Commuters trace a steady chart
Evening drags the tempo slow
Whiskey footsteps heading home
Midnight clears the chrome and foam
Sidewalk frequency coming clear
Three hundred years you track right here
Tourist heels and local soles
Write the signal the city knows
Every step a tone that grows
Dial glow paints your weathered hands
Morse code tapped by leather brands
No fare collected no meter run
Just the count when day is done
Static sings the setting sun
Autumn wind strips the plane trees bare
Static rises in the air
You sign off at midnight stroke
Another chapter the pavement wrote
Frequency fades in dawn's first note
Sidewalk frequency coming clear
Three hundred years you track right here
Tourist heels and local soles
Write the signal the city knows
Sidewalk frequency coming clear
Three hundred years you track right here
Channel Three goes dark and deep
Boston bricks count while you sleep
