I hang on a nail by the door
Watching boots scuff up the floor
Coffee steam clouds up the glass
Waiting for the midnight to pass
I am the gold in the grey
Watching the night drift away
Strings made of silver and wire
Fueling a low-burning fire
Old Bill drinks his pie and his tea
He never looks over at me
The cook flips a burger in grease
While the highway humming won't cease
I am the gold in the grey
Watching the night drift away
Strings made of silver and wire
Fueling a low-burning fire
A trucker sleeps deep in the booth
Hiding a hard-hitting truth
He smells like diesel and rain
Hiding a heavy-load pain
I remember the concert hall light
Before I was lost in the night
Now I just watch the clock spin
Waiting for morning to begin
The grease on the grill starts to smoke
The waitress tells one final joke
The diner is empty and cold
But my polished lacquer is bold
I am the gold in the grey
Watching the night drift away
Strings made of silver and wire
Fueling a low-burning fire
Sun hits the chrome of the street
The morning air tastes kind of sweet
One last regular takes his seat
The cycle of midnight complete
I am the gold in the grey
Watching the night drift away
Strings made of silver and wire
Fueling a low-burning fire
Just a wooden ghost on the wall.
Keep the coffee hot.
Keep it black.
