You pull the chain where the diesel pumps breathe
The fluorescent hum sings a salt-worn tune
Your boots sink deep in the asphalt and weed
The tide of headlights rises with the moon
That iron anchor bites the neon glow
It holds you steady where the lost cars go
No storm can shake it, no wind can blow
You're moored in the light of the crossing road
The attendant sleeps where the coffee grows cold
You trace the rust on the fluke and shank
A gull cries loud where the highway's told
You drink the dark from a chipped tin tank
The map folds wrong in your calloused grip
The compass spins where the power lines hum
You taste the brine on your cracked lower lip
The anchor sings when the morning comes
That iron anchor bites the neon glow
It holds you steady where the lost cars go
No storm can shake it, no wind can blow
You're moored in the light of the crossing road
No lighthouse beam cuts this concrete bay
Just buzzing tubes in a bug-smeared haze
But you know the weight that keeps the drift away
You've held the dark for thirty years and days
Now dawn bleeds pink on the cracked windshield
You heave the chain with a grunt and groan
The asphalt bites but the iron yields
You drive the point where the white lines own
That iron anchor bites the neon glow
It holds you steady where the lost cars go
No storm can shake it, no wind can blow
You're moored in the light of the crossing road
Neon anchor, deep in the glow
You hold the line where the lost cars go
