Grey clouds hang low on a Tuesday noon
Coffee is black and the pot is full soon
A thin red awning keeps the water away
While a slow record starts to play for the day
Hear the rain patter on the black vinyl sleeve
A quiet magic that you have to believe
Spinning in circles while the sky turns to lead
A melody humming inside of a head
Old men in flannel lean back in the shade
Counting the debts that they already paid
The smell of wet pavement and old paper ink
Giving the lonely a moment to think
Sleeves made of cardboard and needles of steel
Turning a memory into something real
Water drops drumming on the yellowing cloth
Attracting the spirit just like a white moth
Hear the rain patter on the black vinyl sleeve
A quiet magic that you have to believe
Spinning in circles while the sky turns to lead
A melody humming inside of a head
The needle skips once on a scratch in the groove
The rhythm is slow and it doesn't want to move
Wait for the crackle and the hiss of the track
A road to a place where there is no way back
The diner is empty the grill is turned low
Watching the river of headlights just flow
One last cigarette and a long heavy sigh
Under the weight of a heavy grey sky
Hear the rain patter on the black vinyl sleeve
A quiet magic that you have to believe
Spinning in circles while the sky turns to lead
A melody humming inside of a head
Just a slow record
Let the rain fall down
Mmm-mmm
