Old ink on a yellow page
Locked inside a concrete cage
Like a seed in salted ground
Waiting for a distant sound
Lines of red and lines of blue
Faded like a morning dew
Still as any dormant vine
Holding to a rigid line
Paper map of eighty two
Waiting for the train to through
Tracing paths of iron vein
Sinking in the city rain
Syllables of station names
Playing all the quiet games
Like a leaf in winter sleep
Promises the tunnels keep
Paper map of eighty two
Waiting for the train to through
Tracing paths of iron vein
Sinking in the city rain
Trophaeus on the tile floor
Opening a heavy door
Deep below the heavy street
Where the soil and metal meet
Clock is ticking three a m
Silent as a hidden stem
Counting every steady beat
Underneath the rushing feet
Patient as a forest floor
Watching for an open door
Paper skin and ink of gold
Stories that the platform hold
Paper map of eighty two
Waiting for the train to through
Tracing paths of iron vein
Sinking in the city rain
Transit paper root. Transit paper root.
Sinking in the rain.