Static in the Smoke

I woke up to the hum and the wires;

A little ghost in a room full of fire;

Neon rain on a cracked old street;

Every heartbeat sang to the kick and the beat;

And I talked to the night in a low, low tone;

Like a preacher with a broken telephone;

The walls may hang back, but they never speak;

So I sang to the night;

Dust and the city creeps;

We rise, we fall, we shake the floor;

Like thunder rolling through the backroom door;

Hands to the sky, let no one know;

Made of rust and a radio glow;

Oh, we burn in the static loud and slow;

Slide guitar climb through the snow;

Soft strings sway like a tired old Joe;

Double bass walking with a heavy sway;

While the machine keeps time in a colder way;

And I talk to the night

in a no-low tone like a preacher with a broken telephone;

The walls lean back, but they never speak, so

I sang to the dust and the city creek;

We rise, we fall, we shake the floor;

Like thunder rolling through the backroom door;

Hands to the sky, let no one know;

We're made of rust and radio glow;

Oh, we burn in the static, loud and slow;

Spoken in the language of scar and spark;

We were like matches in the dark;

808 heartbeat under neon skies;

Truth in the groove and fire in our eyes;

If the world goes cold, let it hear us roar;

We rise, we fall, we shake the floor;

Like thunder, rollin' through the back room door;

Hands to the sky, let the whole world know;

We're made of rust in a radio glow, oh;

We burn in the static, loud and slow;

Let the signal fade, let the shadows bloom;

We'll keep that fire in the basement room;

Till the last snow rains and the lights run low;

Fade out at night;