Track Insight / Lyrics
He sits on the terrace stone.
Watching the grey pigeons roam.
Zinc rooftops bleed into blue.
A city with a velvet hue.
He spins the metal in his palm.
A steady hand, a sudden calm.
The lock is gone, the door is thin.
He wonders where the ghosts begin.
The brass key has no place to go.
A secret that the chimneys know.
It fits a door that isn't there.
Just floating in the summer air.
A camera lens clicks on the street.
The rhythmic sound of walking feet.
He counts the tiles in a row.
While the warm river currents flow.
He spins the metal in his palm.
A steady hand, a sudden calm.
The lock is gone, the door is thin.
He wonders where the ghosts begin.
The brass key has no place to go.
A secret that the chimneys know.
It fits a door that isn't there.
Just floating in the summer air.
He drinks a coffee black and cold.
The morning paper's creases fold.
A heavy weight inside his vest.
A puzzle that will never rest.
Maybe it opens a wooden box.
Or turns the tumblers of old locks.
A cellar deep in a hidden lane.
A copper wire, a rusted chain.
The brass key has no place to go.
A secret that the chimneys know.
It fits a door that isn't there.
Just floating in the summer air.
The sun dips low behind the spire.
The orange clouds are caught on fire.
He keeps the metal polished bright.
Until the coming of the night.
The brass key has no place to go.
A secret that the chimneys know.
It fits a door that isn't there.
Just floating in the summer air.
Just a heavy piece of gold.
A story that will not be told.
Wait for the door.
Wait for the door.
