From the recording The Turning Stone

Lyrics

The Turning Stone
From sails to the rails heels to the wheel
This city looks the same
Oh it’s always the same

From downtrodden fields
Grease to the foam

Nobody has a name
And nobody here knows

Wooa I’m coming home

Wooa from the turning stone

As the train she rolls over
Over the pier

The wood and the steel
And the oily gears

I look down on the rocks
So hard and cold

As I met this old ship that sails me home


Wooa I’m coming home

Wooa from the turning stone