Dropped in on a dead rock Dust on the hatch Air thin Name tag on a busted lock Still swinging in the wind Ramp down Weapons able Flashlight cutting through the dark Empty mugs on the table Cards frozen mid-mark I’m a derelict outpost tourist Stamping stars in my mind (yeah) Every rusted door I open Could be welcome Could be unkind Some nights it’s coffee and stories Some nights it’s guns at my spine I’m a derelict outpost tourist Rolling dice on the dotted line One crew waves from the gantry Patchwork armor Tired eyes They laugh at my old Cutty Share rations and half-truth lies Another base Same cold signage Same crates Same flicker-glow But the scan pings higher And my heartbeat starts to grow I’m a derelict outpost tourist Stamping stars in my mind Every rusted door I open Could be welcome Could be unkind Some nights it’s medpens and blankets Some nights it’s “drop what’s yours is mine” I’m a derelict outpost tourist Reading danger between the lines Is that a beacon or a trap light Is that a hail or a hunt (hey!) Every ping on the scanner Feels like a dare A stunt But I keep chasing these ghosts here In the quiet off the lanes Where broken stations remember Every pilot who misjudged the game I’m a derelict outpost tourist Stamping stars in my mind Every rusted door I open Could be shelter Could be a crime Some nights I’m trading in whispers Some nights I’m burning in time Still a derelict outpost tourist Till I leave my own wreck behind
