I drive the grid through the gray
Watching the city fade away
Cold wind hits the windshield glass
Counting the hours as they pass
Under the street where the horns blow loud
I am a ghost in a velvet crowd
Waiting for jazz in a basement room
Waiting for midnight to start the bloom
I keep my spot by the heavy door
Soft paws resting on a wooden floor
Ink on the pages and old book smell
A little secret that I will not tell
Under the street where the horns blow loud
I am a ghost in a velvet crowd
Waiting for jazz in a basement room
Waiting for midnight to start the bloom
The fare is cheap on a Tuesday night
Turning the corner to catch the light
Wet pavement shines like a polished dime
Nobody's rushing to make it on time
Under the street where the horns blow loud
I am a ghost in a velvet crowd
Waiting for jazz in a basement room
Waiting for midnight to start the bloom
I watch the coats and the leather shoes
Listening close to the saxophone blues
A golden coin in a dusty jar
I know exactly where the rhythms are
The meter clicks while the trumpet plays
Lost in a rhythmic and smoky haze
One more turn by the old brick wall
Waiting for the evening curtain call
I park the cab by the iron gate
The clock is ticking and the hour is late
A quiet nod to the man at the wheel
Knowing exactly how the city feel
Under the street where the horns blow loud
I am a ghost in a velvet crowd
Waiting for jazz in a basement room
Waiting for midnight to start the bloom
Just one more block to the end of the line.
Keep the change, pal.
Keep the change.
