Pedal steel cries low
Dust settles on my lens
Cobblestones shake my bike spokes
Cobblestones shake my bike spokes
Camera hangs by a worn rope
Zinc roofs stretch toward the Seine
Smoke curls through the window pane
Paris breathes in zinc and slate
I ride slow past the garden gate
No voice calls me back home now
Just wheels turning on a vow
Terrace chairs face the morning light
Old men play cards through the night
My shutter clicks a quiet theft
Stealing moments none have kept
Paris breathes in zinc and slate
I ride slow past the garden gate
No voice calls me back home now
Just wheels turning on a vow
Harmonica hums in my coat pocket
Pedal steel weeps no way to stop it
Seine reflects the bruised sky gray
I photograph what won't stay
Paris breathes in zinc and slate
I ride slow past the garden gate
No voice calls me back home now
Just wheels turning on a vow
Appalachian hills taught me to roam
But Paris streets feel like a home
Ghost towns in Kentucky coal
Mirror arrondissements I stole
Sunset paints the dome in gold
Stories rise from streets of old
I pack film and chain my bike
No map shows where the heart might strike
Paris breathes in zinc and slate
I ride slow past the garden gate
No voice calls me back home now
Just wheels turning on a vow
Paris breathes in zinc and slate
I ride slow past the garden gate
No voice calls me back home now
Just wheels turning on a vow
Shutter clicks one last time
Zinc roofs hold my rhythm rhyme
Film winds slow in thinning light
