He lays the compass on the pine
Silver catches dawn's first line
Kettle sings a tired tune
Morning breaks the window soon
Silver needle steam and light
Points to where he slept last night
No fare to call no street to know
Just which way the warm winds blow
Brass rim worn from decades past
Memories hold the needle fast
Forty years of turns and stops
Etched in grooves on metal tops
Silver needle steam and light
Points to where he slept last night
No fare to call no street to know
Just which way the warm winds blow
Passenger once gave him this
Keeps you true when streets go missed
Now the kitchen holds the prize
Reflected in his weary eyes
Silver needle steam and light
Points to where he slept last night
No fare to call no street to know
Just which way the warm winds blow
No meter running no dispatch
Just the whistle just the match
Compass spins then finds the north
Worth more than all the miles forth
Tea steams up the silver face
Time to rest time to embrace
Needle settles quiet still
Points toward home and always will
Silver needle steam and light
Points to where he slept last night
No fare to call no street to know
Just which way the warm winds blow
Silver needle true and bright
Holds him through the long goodbye
Needle rests the journey done
Kitchen light the rising sun
