I hold the weight of eighty eight
Beneath the porch and by the gate
He winds the key to find the tone
Within a desert zone alone
Strike the wire and pull the string
Listen how the hammers sing
Hold the pitch and lock the key
Underneath the mesa tree
A copper coil and silver line
He makes the crooked chords align
The Santa Fe sun burns the gold
While all the quiet tales unfold
Strike the wire and pull the string
Listen how the hammers sing
Hold the pitch and lock the key
Underneath the mesa tree
His fingers touch the yellow felt
Where all the heavy tensions melt
The motel awning keeps the glare
While dry heat hangs in summer air
Strike the wire and pull the string
Listen how the hammers sing
Hold the pitch and lock the key
Underneath the mesa tree
He counts the beats of clockwork gears
The only sound he's known for years
A steady pulse in wooden frames
He gives the missing notes their names
One sharp click and one long slide
Nowhere left for noise to hide
Turn the peg and feel the snap
Falling in a rhythmic trap
The bus goes by in clouds of grey
He watches as it drifts away
He cleans the ivory with a cloth
Like a pale and velvet moth
Strike the wire and pull the string
Listen how the hammers sing
Hold the pitch and lock the key
Underneath the mesa tree
Tuning the wire Tuning the wire
Lock the key
