I sit in the dark and the cold
My cedar is weathered and old
A basement in Chi-town tonight
I catch every glimmer of light
Floating in a sea of gold
Stories that the horn will hold
I am just a wooden shell
Ringing like a silver bell
The sax plays a low heavy sound
I feel it deep under the ground
A fare in a cab knows the beat
The rhythm of rain on the street
The gin on the table is clear
The laughter is all that I hear
I drift where the spotlights descend
A journey that has no real end
Floating in a sea of gold
Stories that the horn will hold
I am just a wooden shell
Ringing like a silver bell
The ceiling is low and it's gray
The city is miles far away
The water is fake but it glows
That is how the river now flows
The meter is running on high
The moon is a hole in the sky
I wait for the morning to break
A wooden ghost wide and awake
Floating in a sea of gold
Stories that the horn will hold
I am just a wooden shell
Ringing like a silver bell
End of the line.
Cash the fare.
Wooden shell.
