Old copper spins in a slow hazy whirl
A rusty red crown for a forgotten girl
High on the roof where the cold wind will blow
Watching the city lights flicker and glow
Down in the basement the ink is still wet
Heavy brown ledgers and a velvet net
Paper and glue in a concrete gray room
Safe from the thunder and the midnight boom
Turning in circles and losing the grip
Watch how the oxidized metal will slip
Copper is peeling and falling away
Into the quiet of a wintery gray
Screws in the bracket are shaking with rust
Turning the history into a gold dust
Bending the arrow to point to the east
Waiting for summer to wake up the beast
Turning in circles and losing the grip
Watch how the oxidized metal will slip
Copper is peeling and falling away
Into the quiet of a wintery gray
Capture the angle in a black and white frame
Nobody remembers the builder or name
Just a slow spiral in a sky made of lead
Where the old weather vane is finally dead
Shelves made of cedar hold the maps of the town
While the heavy copper is tumbling down
One final shudder and a snap of the wire
Cold as a stone and as dead as a fire
Archives are sleeping in a heavy deep blue
Waiting for someone to bring something new
Up on the rooftop the pointer is gone
Waiting for light of a pale yellow dawn
Turning in circles and losing the grip
Watch how the oxidized metal will slip
Copper is peeling and falling away
Into the quiet of a wintery gray
Green on the concrete.
Just a slow spin.
Copper turning green.
