The Jukebox Grind

The diesel fumes hung heavy, like old grief on the air,
Then that old tune kicked out, and froze me standing there.

That same steel drum beat, through the smoke and the haze,
Took me back to her eyes, in those long Perm Krai days.

A busted speaker crackled, thin as winter's ice,
Back to nineteen, tough and green, paying freedom's price.
Her laugh, a welding spark, hot and sharp and bright,
Cut through the shadows, in that forgotten night.

That same steel drum beat, through the smoke and the haze,
Took me back to her eyes, in those long Perm Krai days.

Years turn like heavy gears, grinding on the line,
Some loves, they forge forever, some just unwind.
But that sound, it still hits hard, like a piston's strike,
A ghost in the chrome, burning through the night.

That same steel drum beat, through the smoke and the haze,
Took me back to her eyes, in those long Perm Krai days.

Yeah, the fumes still hang, and the tune still bites.
Nineteen again, under these neon lights.