Three A.
M. and the meter is dead.
Cold winter wind in a taxi driver's head.
I park the cab by the subway gate.
A midnight shift and a heavy weight.
Wooden boat on a concrete floor.
Iron locks on a closing door.
Rusting slow in the city light.
A piece of wood in the neon night.
No more river and no more tide.
Nowhere left for a ghost to hide.
The platform hums with a steady beat.
Steel on steel in the city heat.
I've driven miles through the smog and gray.
Watching the colors all fade away.
A wooden hull in a subway bay.
Waiting for winds that will never stay.
Wooden boat on a concrete floor.
Iron locks on a closing door.
Rusting slow in the city light.
A piece of wood in the neon night.
The fares all leave and the trains all run.
The long day ends before the rising sun.
It does not float and it cannot sail.
Just a dead dream on a metal rail.
My tires are worn and my spirit is thin.
Looking for places where we could begin.
The boat is peeling a shade of brown.
The deepest secret in this whole town.
Wooden boat on a concrete floor.
Iron locks on a closing door.
Rusting slow in the city light.
A piece of wood in the neon night.
Rust on the rail.
Just rust on the rail.
Driving home now.
Driving home.
