I sit on a rusted steel pole
Watching the evening turn cold
My glass eye is clouded and gray
Waiting for the end of the day
He comes with a scent of the salt
Turning the heavy gears to a halt
The gravel is crunching beneath
A wintery wind in its teeth
I cast a gold circle of light
Cutting a hole through the night
I guide him back home to the door
Watching him walk on the floor
He carries a net made of twine
Sifting through water and brine
His boots leave a smudge on the stone
Walking this driveway alone
I cast a gold circle of light
Cutting a hole through the night
I guide him back home to the door
Watching him walk on the floor
The current is pulling the tide
With nowhere for secrets to hide
I hold the line steady and true
Until the dark morning is new
A bucket of silver and scale
A story told thin and too frail
He leans on the fence for a while
Wearing a tired kind of smile
The moths circle round in a blur
The engines begin a low purr
I keep the path open and wide
While the old fisherman glides
I cast a gold circle of light
Cutting a hole through the night
I guide him back home to the door
Watching him walk on the floor
Yellow beam on the gravel.
Yellow beam, guide him home.
