You lean against the cedar wall
Where heavy ivy starts to sprawl
The chrome is pitted, dull and gray
You haven't moved a single day
Solenopsis crawls the spoke
The garden air is thick like smoke
You are the ghost of open roads
While Monarda blooms in golden loads
The glass is cracked in jagged lines
Between the ferns and climbing vines
Your rubber tires are flat and old
The winter soil is damp and cold
Solenopsis crawls the spoke
The garden air is thick like smoke
You are the ghost of open roads
While Monarda blooms in golden loads
I prune the leaves of Salvia blue
And wonder where you went from view
A leather seat with weathered seams
A resting place for dormant dreams
The gear is stuck in second place
A frozen map, a hidden trace
I dig the dirt and plant a seed
A little love is all you need
The greenhouse holds a humid heat
Where mossy carpets feel so neat
You watch the nectar-feeding bees
Swaying in the summer breeze
Solenopsis crawls the spoke
The garden air is thick like smoke
You are the ghost of open roads
While Monarda blooms in golden loads
The rust has turned a burnt orange hue
A perfect match for morning dew
I polish just one silver bell
A story that you cannot tell
Solenopsis crawls the spoke
The garden air is thick like smoke
You are the ghost of open roads
While Monarda blooms in golden loads
Just a bike by the glass
Watching all the seasons pass
Rust and resin, gold and green
