Old pine boards on a shaking porch
Dusk is burning like a low oil torch
Copper water in the cypress knee
Black mud humming like a bumblebee
Silver needle spinning in the glass
Watching all the heavy seasons pass
North is calling through the humid haze
Lost inside the bayou's winding maze
Grease on fingers and a coffee cup
Waiting for the summer moon to wake up
He keeps the compass in a denim fold
A little piece of luck made out of gold
Silver needle spinning in the glass
Watching all the heavy seasons pass
North is calling through the humid haze
Lost inside the bayou's winding maze
Regulars come for the fried catfish fry
Underneath a bruised and purple sky
They tell the jokes that they have told before
While the river knocks upon the door
Silver needle spinning in the glass
Watching all the heavy seasons pass
North is calling through the humid haze
Lost inside the bayou's winding maze
Wood smoke drifting on a salty breeze
Hiding in the thicket of the trees
The silver casing catches one last light
Before the swamp swallows up the night
Toss a coin in the rusted tin
Wait for the evening tide to roll on in
No one is leaving this muddy ground
Where the heavy anchor is firmly bound
He wipes the counter with a rag of red
Thinking of the words that were never said
The compass points to a distant shore
But he does not wander anymore
Silver needle spinning in the glass
Watching all the heavy seasons pass
North is calling through the humid haze
Lost inside the bayou's winding maze
Spinning round in the silver glass.
North is calling.
Just let it pass.
