You stand where the salt air is cold.
A story that's already told.
The ink in your ribbon is dry.
Under a pale winter sky.
Click-clack goes the ghost of the quay.
Waiting for ships on the sea.
Type out the names of the dead.
Words that can never be said.
The dock is a splintered old plank.
The fog is a heavy grey bank.
You count every wave as it rolls.
Like coins for the ferryman's tolls.
Click-clack goes the ghost of the quay.
Waiting for ships on the sea.
Type out the names of the dead.
Words that can never be said.
Your keys are all rusted and slow.
With nowhere left for you to go.
The morning is sharp as a knife.
Cutting the thread of a life.
Click-clack goes the ghost of the quay.
Waiting for ships on the sea.
Type out the names of the dead.
Words that can never be said.
The harbor is empty and wide.
You drift with the turn of the tide.
A passenger lost in the haze.
Counting the end of your days.
The meter is running on low.
The current is starting to flow.
One final page for the ride.
With nothing left here to hide.
The sun hits the edge of the pier.
The ending is finally near.
You lock every letter in place.
With a smile on your weathered face.
Click-clack goes the ghost of the quay.
Waiting for ships on the sea.
Type out the names of the dead.
Words that can never be said.
Just one last fare.
The coast is clear.
Click-clack.
