You lean on a cold iron rail
The midnight is thin and it's pale
Your boots hit the grey cobblestone
You walk through the plaza alone
Wait for the coffee to brew
Wait for the morning light hue
Hold to the keys in your hand
The ghost of a sleeping old land
The street lamps are flickering low
The wind makes the olive trees blow
You watch for a stray city cat
Tiptoeing past a felt hat
Wait for the coffee to brew
Wait for the morning light hue
Hold to the keys in your hand
The ghost of a sleeping old land
Your jacket is worn at the wrist
The air has a damp winter mist
You count every crack in the wall
Waiting for the first rooster call
Wait for the coffee to brew
Wait for the morning light hue
Hold to the keys in your hand
The ghost of a sleeping old land
A taxi rolls by on the bend
A road with no start and no end
The driver just nods with a grin
Before the day's hustle begins
The shutters are opening wide
The bakers are stepping outside
You lock up the gate with a snap
And take off your old woolen cap
Wait for the coffee to brew
Wait for the morning light hue
Hold to the keys in your hand
The ghost of a sleeping old land
Clock out now
The sun is up now
The sun is up now
