Cold concrete floor and a yellow line
The last train left at a quarter nine
A little scrap of a notebook page
A tiny bird in a subway cage
White paper wing in the city gray
Waiting for wind to blow it away
Folded in creases of a child's hand
Landing alone in a concrete land
The air is heavy and the tiles are white
The tunnel swallows the remaining light
It rests in a corner by a rusted gate
A lucky charm that was left to fate
White paper wing in the city gray
Waiting for wind to blow it away
Folded in creases of a child's hand
Landing alone in a concrete land
I snap a photo with a steady eye
A piece of heaven where the commuters fly
A smudge of graphite on a jagged tip
A paper vessel on a midnight trip
White paper wing in the city gray
Waiting for wind to blow it away
Folded in creases of a child's hand
Landing alone in a concrete land
No one is here to claim the prize
No one is watching with hopeful eyes
Just the hum of the electric wire
And the ghost of a little kid's fire
I reach down slow to the grimy floor
I hold the wing by the station door
I lift it up to the open street
Where the cold wind and the city meet
White paper wing in the city gray
Waiting for wind to blow it away
Folded in creases of a child's hand
Sailing away from the concrete land
Sailing away now
Sailing away
Watch it fly high
Fly high, fly high
