Old keys click in a steady beat
Like a meter on a rainy street
Morning light hits the attic floor
Right beside the heavy wooden door
Paper white as a fresh new sheet
Where the ink and the memories meet
Copper ribbons in a rusted coil
Like a motor running on old oil
Humming low in the golden glare
Writing truth in the morning air
Click and clack till the story ends
Where the light and the metal blends
Silver levers and a heavy slide
Nowhere left for a word to hide
Black ink dripping on a linen page
Like a bird singing in a wire cage
Humming low in the golden glare
Writing truth in the morning air
Click and clack till the story ends
Where the light and the metal blends
Ride the line till the fuel runs dry
Underneath a pale yellow sky
Shift the gear let the rhythm flow
Watch the ink make the spirit glow
Dusty corners and a wooden chair
Fresh coffee and a salty flare
Tale of miles on a broken road
Carrying a heavy winter load
One last strike on a narrow line
Like a clock that is running fine
Old machine with a steady hand
Mapping out a forgotten land
Humming low in the golden glare
Writing truth in the morning air
Click and clack till the story ends
Where the light and the metal blends
Just a fare in the early light.
Click clack.
Ride it home.
