I'm a token booth cracked and gray
Watching trains just slide away
A lighthouse keeper lost his boat
Came down here to write a note
He folds his coat and takes a seat
Drops a token at my feet
Three AM on the platform tile
I hold his weight a little while
Three AM and the turnstile clicks
I am more than bricks and sticks
He smells like salt and kerosene
Coffee black and navy green
He counts the bolts along my frame
Like he's counting who's to blame
The rats run laps on track debris
He laughs and says it's just like me
Three AM on the platform tile
I hold his weight a little while
Three AM and the turnstile clicks
I am more than bricks and sticks
I've held a million hands before
But his are chapped and wanting more
He leans his forehead on my glass
Watches empty minutes pass
A train moans somewhere in the dark
He strikes a match to make a spark
I am steel and rust and wire
I am nothing to desire
But tonight I am a shore
He can rest his tired oar
The MTA don't know my name
But I'm a lamp without a flame
He sleeps a minute, maybe two
Dreams of water wide and blue
I guard his breath and guard his hat
I am good at being that
Three AM on the platform tile
I hold his weight a little while
Three AM and the turnstile clicks
I am more than bricks and sticks
More than bricks and sticks
Token booth hums a morning tune
He wakes and leaves too soon
