Track 6 of the EP Thresholds · 2024
Fog Lifts Slow on the Eastbound Line
by Kane Rivers
“Platform wrapped in gray, streetlights wearing halos. My daily line, quieted down.”
boom-bap · hushed boom-bap · commuter rap · 3:26
Lyrics
Five-fifty, platform's wrapped in gray Streetlights wearing halos, hiding the day Coffee in my left hand, notebook in my right Fog on the eastbound line, can't see past the light Conductor's voice is muffled like a radio in a drawer Strangers in a line, but we all want the same door Breath clouds hanging like the words we never said I write one line, then I rub the window with my thread Fog lifts slow, fog lifts slow Nobody knows where the morning's gonna go We ride it out, shoulder to shoulder Every stop a little clearer, every mile a little bolder Fog lifts slow on the eastbound line Gray turns gold when you give it time Lady with the lunch bag humming something old Kid with headphones nodding, never feeling cold Man in a work vest, boots still dusty from the night We all got somewhere, we just can't see the sight Bridge ahead is hiding like a secret in the mist But I know it's there, I've crossed it, I insist Punchline in my pocket, heart is in my chest East side raised me, taught me how to ride the rest Fog lifts slow, fog lifts slow Nobody knows where the morning's gonna go We ride it out, shoulder to shoulder Every stop a little clearer, every mile a little bolder Fog lifts slow on the eastbound line Gray turns gold when you give it time Sun finds a crack and pours it on the floor Every face lights up like somebody opened a door Skyline stepping out like it was never gone Same old city, but it's wearing a new dawn I fold up the page, I got the verse I came for Tucked it in my jacket, got a little bit more Doors slide open, everybody steps in stride Fog was just the city taking time to decide Slow, slow, let it lift Every morning's a gift Slow, slow, let it clear Gold is already here Fog lifts slow, fog lifts slow Nobody knows where the morning's gonna go We ride it out, shoulder to shoulder Every stop a little clearer, every mile a little bolder Fog lifts slow on the eastbound line Gray turns gold when you give it time Gray turns gold Gray turns gold when you give it time