Lyrics

The moon’s above the steeple I’m sitting
behind the chain
that holds the awning off your room,
your soul, your face, your name.
The tired idling taxi’s horn cannot wake my friend,
the lifting tin and flapping flag hold no secrets that winds can send.

This perch can tell you stories here above the street,
the fire’s the only thing that’s warm,
there’s no movement in my feet.
It’s a tired old town now that stains the page with a pen.
The grill down there is an accordion
playing my long lost imaginary friend.
Now the moon’s above the other steeple.
This type of town has two.
the clouds are dragging through the lot
for the next day is nearly new.

There she lays in silence
my prayers are mine to keep.
The door’s ajar
salt water’s fine
she’s sitting in my seat.
Thought I’d be the first my dear
but you know not the day nor hour.
I’m empty, out of tune, and cold,
like the last bell to clang in the tower.

It’s one thing to loose a routine.
Another to loose your friend.
The rugs pulled out from under you.
Gotta start the dat again.
There she lays in silence
my prayers are mine to keep.
The door’s ajar, salt water’s fine
she’s sitting in my seat.