He carries tools in a leather case
A tired look on a weathered face
He finds a seat by the rusted screen
The strangest place that he's ever seen
Turn the pin and lock the tone
Working out here all alone
Silver key in a shaking hand
Tuning chords in a lonely land
The drive-in lot is a sea of weeds
The broken glass is all the garden needs
He sets his bench on the cracked concrete
While summer air brings a heavy heat
He pulls a string till the pitch is high
A sharp gold note for a prairie sky
He hums a tune that his father knew
While the morning grass turns a heavy dew
Turn the pin and lock the tone
Working out here all alone
Silver key in a shaking hand
Tuning chords in a lonely land
The screen is torn like a ragged sheet
The gravel road meets the dusty street
He closes eyes to the rising sun
Until the work and the wait are done
He packs the felt and the copper wire
The dawn arrives like a sudden fire
He leaves the ghost of a movie show
With one last look and a place to go
Turn the pin and lock the tone
Working out here all alone
Silver key in a shaking hand
Tuning chords in a lonely land
Just one more turn of the silver key
Wild and wide and finally free
The silver key.
