The Q train has been stopped in the middle of the Manhattan Bridge for a little too long

The last rays of sun are disappearing behind the buildings, the commuters growing restless

Slide, one two, our time

To take care of the wound, take care of the wound

Mine, down, find the right time

To take care of the wound, take care of the wound

Grind, no rain in the archive

No rain in the archive

Grind, stuck, load and rewind

Top to bottom, I keep on standing, I keep on

Crying, shorn, small, and scolded, scolded

But you press on over the tears you weep

Down the room where the records keep

(But you press on)

Through the floor where the sound will seep

(But you press on)

No they can't ever hear these cuts, they go too deep

Too deep

Too deep

In the narrow garden, the children listen to the elders tell stories

"This carriage used to move," they say. "It carried our ancestors over the water."

No rain in the archive

No rain in the archive

Take a load off, bask in the cool clean glow of the timeline

Take care of the wound

Take care of the wound

I'll be waiting on the outside

Where the gang retreats and the music fades in the flood tide

Wide-eyed for my trip to the archive

(Wide-eyed)

So take care of the wound

Take care of the wound

Mine, down, find the right time, time to

Take care of the wound

Take care of the wound

Crying, shorn, small, and scolded, scolded

But you press on

Over the tears you weep

Down the room where the records keep

(But you press on)

Through the floor where the sound will seep

(But you press on)

No they can't ever hear these cuts they go too deep

Too deep

Too deep

Too deep