Old paper clings to the pine
A jagged and colorful line
The rain hits the porch with a beat
The soil is a dark heavy treat
Oh the transit map is a ghost
Of the city I loved the most
Blue lines and a red velvet track
The kind of a trip with no back
My Montera grows in the shade
Where the colors of city-lights fade
I talk to the roots in the clay
While the thunder washes the day
Oh the transit map is a ghost
Of the city I loved the most
Blue lines and a red velvet track
The kind of a trip with no back
Nineteen eighty two was the year
When the rhythm of subway was clear
Now it is soaked in the storm
While the compost keeps the earth warm
The loam is a deep heavy brown
Far from the noise of the town
I plant a new seed in the mud
Waiting for the first green bud
The ink is a blur on the page
A bird in a wide open cage
I watch as the water descends
Where the city and garden blend
Oh the transit map is a ghost
Of the city I loved the most
Blue lines and a red velvet track
The kind of a trip with no back
I prune back the vines from the door
I don't need the trains anymore
The peat is a soft velvet bed
Where the old city memories tread
Oh the transit map is a ghost
Of the city I loved the most
Blue lines and a red velvet track
The kind of a trip with no back
Just a scrap of a city map
Resting in a garden lap
The transit map.
