I looked down through the railings
Still slick with black storm rain
Windows blown open
And showers are pouring down
Watching the drops

I can hear the gears humming behind the walls
Cold against your skin
Workers climb here and there like spiders
Reaching into the greasy pipes
Turning bolts and creaking cans of oil

In the marble lobby of an old museum
With a golden chandelier
And lamps with hot lightbulbs
An old security gaurds shoes
Tap down the stairs
Asleep by the door in a pile of blankets
"Hey kid, move along"