He leaves the books and ink behind
The midnight rain is cold and blind
He walks the curb on velvet paws
While winter wind reveals its claws
He traces edges of the steam
A humming white and soapy dream
The spin cycle begins to roll
A rhythmic beat that feeds his soul
He finds a spot by dryer heat
The concrete gray beneath his feet
He watches linens swirl and spin
Where all the heavy wetness thin
He traces edges of the steam
A humming white and soapy dream
The spin cycle begins to roll
A rhythmic beat that feeds his soul
The smell of bleach and lemon oil
While copper pots begin to boil
He marks the tiles with amber light
A golden ghost inside the night
One lonely coin for one last turn
The old electric heaters burn
He waits for dawn to break the blue
And make the tired city new
He traces edges of the steam
A humming white and soapy dream
The spin cycle begins to roll
A rhythmic beat that feeds his soul
The bookstore door is open wide
He takes a slow and steady stride
Back to the shelves of leather gold
Where all the quiet tales unfold
He traces edges of the steam
A humming white and soapy dream
The spin cycle begins to roll
A rhythmic beat that feeds his soul
Just a rhythmic beat
On a rainy street
He's going home now
