I am the coil in the floor
Holding the weight of the door
Spinning the linens in white
Keeping the rhythm tonight
Humming the salt and the foam
Under the tiles of this home
Turning the wheel in the deep
While all the city folk sleep
He brings the brine in his coat
Singing a hymn to a boat
Wiping the grease from his hand
Far from the stretch of the sand
Humming the salt and the foam
Under the tiles of this home
Turning the wheel in the deep
While all the city folk sleep
Iron and steam in the air
Heavy as burdens he'll bear
Water is drumming the street
Beating a steady old beat
Humming the salt and the foam
Under the tiles of this home
Turning the wheel in the deep
While all the city folk sleep
Silver and rust on the gear
Counting the ghosts of the year
Waiting for signals to flare
Cold as the wintertime air
Humming the salt and the foam
Under the tiles of this home
Turning the wheel in the deep
While all the city folk sleep
Swaying low, swaying low.
Turn the wheel, let it go.