Holding The Rail

(ahh) It's a night-drive sort of feeling When the glass is wet

and cold

And we hold onto the railing For a hand we cannot hold

The fluorescent hum is fading in the conference room

Rain streaks the outside pane in a steady gloom

You lean against the silver rail,

pretending it is fine

Watching the taillights blur

in a silent line

And the elevator's waiting down the hall

But we stand here saying nothing at all

It's a night-drive sort of feeling When the glass is wet and

cold

And we hold onto the railing For a hand we cannot hold

Your keys are in your pocket,

I can hear them chime

We're just borders on a map,

running out of time

I touch the cold aluminum,

pretending it's your hand

Two silhouettes against the dark of a sleeping land

Just a night-drive feeling

Glass is wet and cold

(wet and cold)