Cold rain hits the yellow cab.
City streets are grey and drab.
Down stairs where the records sleep.
Secrets that the binders keep.
Steel wheels turn a heavy gear.
Something tells me dawn is near.
White clay breaking on the floor.
I can't hold the handle more.
One thin line and then it goes.
That is how the story flows.
Brown brew spills on vellum sheets.
Like the oil on midnight streets.
Paper soaked in bitter black.
Nothing brings the pieces back.
Steel wheels turn a heavy gear.
Something tells me dawn is near.
White clay breaking on the floor.
I can't hold the handle more.
One thin line and then it goes.
That is how the story flows.
Fares will pay for every mile.
But the wreckage stays a while.
Old books smell of wet concrete.
Driving fast on one-way street.
The clock ticks a jagged beat.
Sanding down a rough retreat.
Hold the shard and feel the sting.
Hear the morning sirens ring.
White clay breaking on the floor.
I can't hold the handle more.
One thin line and then it goes.
That is how the story flows.
Empty cups and heavy ink.
Faster than a driver can blink.
The basement air is thick and cold.
Stories that were never told.
White clay breaking on the floor.
I can't hold the handle more.
One thin line and then it goes.
That is how the story flows.
Check the mirror, shift the gear.
The morning light is finally here.
