Down where the heavy pipes leak
The basement air is cold and bleak
He sits on a velvet red tray
Watching the gray hours decay
Gold casing with a jagged crack
Holding the frozen seconds back
Locked in a box of cedar wood
Doing the job as best he could
Sinking deep in the ink and the glue
Counting the beats of a rhythm so true
Wind up the spring and let the gear spin
The long wait is where the stories begin
Old paper smells like wet wet clay
The ink on the ledger turns gray
He counts every breath of the air
A golden guard in a lonely lair
Sinking deep in the ink and the glue
Counting the beats of a rhythm so true
Wind up the spring and let the gear spin
The long wait is where the stories begin
The light bulb flickers on the wall
The heavy ledger starts to fall
A sudden jolt in the rusted chain
A steady beat like a summer rain
He remembers the touch of a hand
A different life in a different land
Now he just marks the slow steady pace
With a cold smile on a metal face
The midnight oil is burning low
The basement wind begins to blow
He keeps the count of the silent floor
Waiting for someone to open the door
Sinking deep in the ink and the glue
Counting the beats of a rhythm so true
Wind up the spring and let the gear spin
The long wait is where the stories begin
Keep it wound tight.
Just another night.
Tick, tick, tick.
