You sit where the zinc railing ends
Where the gray city skyline bends
The coffee is cold in the pot
This old wooden porch is your spot
Swing slow in the iron chair
Cool mist in the velvet air
Watch the slate rooftops turn to gold
A story that never grows old
The rain washed the cobblestone clean
The gardens are vivid and green
You track every light in the square
While breathing the lavender air
Swing slow in the iron chair
Cool mist in the velvet air
Watch the slate rooftops turn to gold
A story that never grows old
The baker is closing his door
The pigeons don't circle no more
You count every window of white
Before the arrival of night
Swing slow in the iron chair
Cool mist in the velvet air
Watch the slate rooftops turn to gold
A story that never grows old
Your tea leaves are settled and black
There is no more reason to track
Just lean where the metal will creak
The peace that you came here to seek
The street lamps ignite with a hum
The midnight delivery has come
You lean with your head on the wood
And find that the stillness is good
Swing slow in the iron chair
Cool mist in the velvet air
Watch the slate rooftops turn to gold
A story that never grows old
Just swing slow. Just swing slow.
In the iron chair.
