He holds the wrench inside his hand
Across the red and salted land
The motel porch is peeling white
Beneath a hard and heavy light
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the desert and distance belong
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the distance and desert belong
He checks the wire and feels the heat
The shimmering of the empty street
A broken board a rusted frame
A place that doesn't have a name
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the desert and distance belong
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the distance and desert belong
The hammer hits a hollow tone
A sound that he has always known
He pulls the lever slow and tight
Until the frequency is right
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the desert and distance belong
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the distance and desert belong
The guests arrived in rusted cars
Underneath the cold and distant stars
They leave their luggage by the door
Then walk away across the floor
The pedal steel begins to cry
A jagged line across the sky
He closes eyes to hear the ring
The tension of the highest string
He packs his kit and turns the lock
The steady ticking of the clock
The Santa Fe wind starts to blow
With nowhere left for him to go
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the desert and distance belong
Tuning the ghost of a holiday song
Right where the distance and desert belong
Just one more turn
Let the high C burn
