Old pine needles coat the floor
Resting by the heavy door
Wooden slats are worn and grey
Watching all the light decay
Rocking back and rocking slow
Where the heavy wild winds blow
Cedar sway and iron wire
Waiting for the evening fire
Telephone poles stand in a line
Cutting through the scent of pine
Copper humming in the breeze
Shaking all the maple trees
Rocking back and rocking slow
Where the heavy wild winds blow
Cedar sway and iron wire
Waiting for the evening fire
Rust is eating at the nail
Wind is whipping like a flail
Empty glass upon the rail
Telling such a quiet tale
Rocking back and rocking slow
Where the heavy wild winds blow
Cedar sway and iron wire
Waiting for the evening fire
Black crows circle in the sky
While the summer grasses dry
Wooden joints begin to creak
While the winter wind is bleak
Hold the line and keep the beat
Feel the grit beneath the feet
Midnight blue and heavy gold
Stories that the timber told
Moonlight hits the gravel track
Waiting for the traveler back
Swaying on a rusted spring
Hear the distant cricket sing
Rocking back and rocking slow
Where the heavy wild winds blow
Cedar sway and iron wire
Waiting for the evening fire
Rocking slow.
Just the cedar sway.
