I climb the stairs to the attic floor
I push open the heavy oak door
The salt air clings to the woolen vest
The old keeper needs a little rest
A wooden box on a rusted nail
A steady hand for a winter gale
The morning sun hits the window pane
A golden spark in a steady rain
Silver needle, spinning in the light
Bringing the distant coastline into sight
Turning the wheel to the northern star
Knowing exactly where the harbors are
The glass is cold and the hinge is tight
It catches a beam of the early light
A tiny spark on a polished face
Holding the ghost of a steady pace
Silver needle, spinning in the light
Bringing the distant coastline into sight
Turning the wheel to the northern star
Knowing exactly where the harbors are
I watched the ships from the lantern tower
I kept the flame through the midnight hour
The oil was thick and the wick was charred
The long winter nights were cold and hard
The needle swings to the frozen west
The weary sailor finds a place to rest
The brass is worn by a thumb and bone
A quiet piece of a world I've known
I hold the metal in a calloused grip
I see the sail of a ghosting ship
The sun climbs high o'er the jagged reef
The morning glow brings a brief relief
Silver needle, spinning in the light
Bringing the distant coastline into sight
Turning the wheel to the northern star
Knowing exactly where the harbors are
Pointing north to the open sea
Bringing the silver light back to me
