I hold the weight of a ghost on my seat
I feel the vibration beneath my old feet
The paint on my armrest is peeling away
I watch the gray morning turn into a day
Swaying slow in the heavy white haze
Counting the miles in a rhythmic daze
The rail yard is humming a low silver song
I rock to the beat where the heavy trains belong
A copper-clad engine cuts through the thick mist
The cold morning air gives the railing a twist
I creak like a door that is open too wide
Watching the freight cars glide slowly inside
Swaying slow in the heavy white haze
Counting the miles in a rhythmic daze
The rail yard is humming a low silver song
I rock to the beat where the heavy trains belong
The snap of a shutter from someone in blue
A flash in the fog brings a sharp image through
A girl with a camera is catching the light
Before the steam engine vanishes from sight
Swaying slow in the heavy white haze
Counting the miles in a rhythmic daze
The rail yard is humming a low silver song
I rock to the beat where the heavy trains belong
The gravel is damp and the sleepers are black
The oil and the soot leave a stain on the track
I lean to the left as the wind starts to blow
Waiting for signals to tell them to go
The tension is tight like a wire on a pole
The humming of diesel is taking its toll
Then the whistle screams out a long jagged plea
And the weight of the morning is finally free
The girl on the platform is boarding the car
She carries her snapshots to travel so far
I settle back down in my weathered old frame
The wind in the pines doesn't call out a name
Swaying slow in the heavy white haze
Counting the miles in a rhythmic daze
The rail yard is humming a low silver song
I rock to the beat where the heavy trains belong
Iron and oak.
Just iron and oak. Swaying slow.
Swaying slow.
