I knead the dough in a heavy tray
Wait for the blue to turn into gray
The oven hums like a tired machine
While I look out at a ghostly scene
Across the road where the asphalt breaks
A rusted screen makes the spirit shake
The drive-in stands like a broken wall
Watching the midnight shadows fall
Oh, the silver screen is a hollow shell
A quiet story that I know too well
I bake the bread while the colors fade
In a lonely light where the ghosts have played
The wind blows hard through the empty lot
The coffee's cold in a ceramic pot
I see a flicker of a movie frame
Calling a long forgotten name
Oh, the silver screen is a hollow shell
A quiet story that I know too well
I bake the bread while the colors fade
In a lonely light where the ghosts have played
The city wakes with a sudden roar
I lock the latch on the bakery door
The white flour clings to my tired skin
Before the rush of the day begins
A taxi slows by the rusted gate
The driver knows that the hour is late
He gives a nod to the morning dew
Knowing the struggle is old and true
The oven heat is a steady glow
I watch the golden crust start to grow
The movie screen is a faded white
Swallowed away by the coming light
Oh, the silver screen is a hollow shell
A quiet story that I know too well
I bake the bread while the colors fade
In a lonely light where the ghosts have played
Just a night shift grind.
Leave the ghosts behind.
Fresh bread on the line.
Everything is fine.
