I am the rope of velvet red
Holding the line while guests are fed
I feel the grip of every hand
The only guard in this dry land
The desert wind hits like a wall
I watch the tired travelers fall
They lean on me to catch their breath
A quiet town that feels like death
Hold the line until the break of day
Watch the midnight ghosts all drift away
Keep the rhythm of the ticking clock
Waiting for the morning door to lock
A rusted key, a heavy door
I've seen this scene a thousand times more
The Santa Fe moon is a silver coin
Where the road and the lonely spirits join
Hold the line until the break of day
Watch the midnight ghosts all drift away
Keep the rhythm of the ticking clock
Waiting for the morning door to lock
The coffee's cold, the night is long
The coyote sings a jagged song
I feel the tension in my braided thread
Counting the hours until the sun is red
One man arrives with a heavy bag
His spirit worn like a faded flag
He touches my fabric, soft and deep
While the rest of the motel falls asleep
The dew settles on the concrete floor
I stand my ground by the open door
The streetlights blink in a steady beat
Taming the rhythm of the empty street
Hold the line until the break of day
Watch the midnight ghosts all drift away
Keep the rhythm of the ticking clock
Waiting for the morning door to lock
Sun is up, the shift is done
The velvet rope has finally won
