[Instrumental Intro] [Spoken Intro] Four fifteen. Gate three. Badge to glass. Green light. Same as yesterday. [Verse 1] Four fifteen, gate three, badge against the glass Night crew clocks out while the first trucks pass Crane lights stretch across the water black Salt on my collar, cold coffee in a flask Bay six, row three, move it when it’s clear Twist-lock snaps, steel answers in my ear Nobody talks much while the floodlights hum Two fingers point and the next load comes [Chorus] Salt line on my sleeve Diesel rainbow on the tide Four more hours till the morning bus Then I leave the port behind Salt line on my sleeve Names of cities on the steel I don’t know the streets they send them to I know the sound when the last lock seals [Instrumental Transition] [Verse 2] Across the fence, the fish market starts at five Yellow tubs, crushed ice, radios turned high My phone lights up: “School shoes. Next week.” I type “I know” with grease across the screen Foreman waves before I get to send Gloves back on, start the count again Blue box northbound, red one off the quay By sunrise, three more rows where two used to be [Chorus] Salt line on my sleeve Diesel rainbow on the tide Four more hours till the morning bus Then I leave the port behind Salt line on my sleeve Names of cities on the steel I don’t know the streets they send them to I know the sound when the last lock seals [Instrumental Break] [Verse 3] Seven-ten, daylight shows every stain Oil by the drain, rust along the chain First buses fill outside the customs wall Fruit carts open, drivers start to call I get home when the school kids leave My daughter looks up at the mark on my sleeve She wrinkles her nose when I open the door: “You smell like the sea.” I tell her: “That’s the port.” Boots stay outside. I sleep till four. [Bridge – spoken, stripped down] People talk about the sea like it opens the world. Mine starts at Gate Three, ends at the bus stop, and leaves a white line on my sleeve. [Instrumental Rise] [Final Chorus] Salt line on my sleeve Bus glass cold against my head Dock cranes getting smaller through the window School uniforms at every stop Salt line on my sleeve City names across the steel By tonight they’ll all be somewhere else I’ll be back at Gate Three [Outro] Four fifteen. Gate three. Again.
