I sit on the burner cold
A story that is never told
I watch the deckhand close the door
He does not want the rain no more
Silver kettle steam in the air
A quiet kind of heavy prayer
Warmth in the kitchen soft and low
Watching the winter current flow
He leans his back against the wall
The yellow light begins to fall
His boots are wet with salty spray
He throws the heavy coat away
I feel the heat begin to rise
I see the tired in his eyes
The water bubbles in my chest
He only wants a place to rest
Silver kettle steam in the air
A quiet kind of heavy prayer
Warmth in the kitchen soft and low
Watching the winter current flow
The ferry moans against the pier
The fog is thick and very near
He pours the tea into a cup
And waits for the morning sun to wake up
The window shakes with every gust
The iron stove is thick with rust
He takes a sip and closes tight
The little window to the night
Silver kettle steam in the air
A quiet kind of heavy prayer
Warmth in the kitchen soft and low
Watching the winter current flow
Silver steam.
Just a quiet dream. Flowing slow.
Let it go.
