Grey concrete ceiling high above
Cold asphalt road I cannot love
I hold my lens to catch the glare
The heavy scent of diesel air
You wear a jacket stained with brine
Your steady eyes meet mine in line
You lead me to the rusted rail
Where salt wind makes the headlights pale
Under the overpass we hide
Waiting for the turning tide
Safe inside the concrete shell
A secret place where we both dwell
I snap a shot of yellow paint
The humming of the road is faint
You tell me where the ferries go
To islands where the currents slow
Under the overpass we hide
Waiting for the turning tide
Safe inside the concrete shell
A secret place where we both dwell
The metal pulse is beating fast
I know this moment cannot last
We lean against the freezing wall
Before the heavy raindrops fall
Your calloused hands hold onto steel
The grinding of the engine wheel
I frame the world in black and white
Before we vanish in the night
The bus is coming down the lane
I feel the sudden rush of rain
You wave a hand and walk away
Into the mist of salted grey
Under the overpass we hide
Waiting for the turning tide
Safe inside the concrete shell
A secret place where we both dwell
Salt water shelter.
Hold the line.
Just hold the line.
