The Stories Keep Sailing

[Verse 1] At the end of the pier where the ferry horns fade, I pull up the awning and set out the lime. The first one in is a teacher from fresno, Still wearing her badge, telling jokes on her time. A deckhand rolls in with a map of the islands, A trumpet case tucked under one arm. By the second round, he’s teaching her salsa; By the third, she’s keeping the beat with her palm. [Pre-Chorus] I know the names, not the whole of their stories, But every glass gives a little more room. [Chorus] Here’s to the night that keeps passing us around, One little toast and the whole place turns into town. A laugh from the corner, a story by the rail, New friends trading punchlines like postcards by mail. Pour one for the stranger who came in alone— By closing, they’re calling each other their own. [Verse 2] There’s a baker from oakland who missed her last launch, A lifeguard still pink from the sun on his neck. He says he once rescued a movie-star’s poodle; She says she once iced a cake shaped like a shipwreck. A couple of cousins debate old baseball, A nurse from the night shift takes off her shoes. I slide them a round with a twist of grapefruit; They tell me the punch line before i can choose. [Pre-Chorus] I keep the good ones tucked under my apron: Who met, who laughed, who made somebody stay. [Chorus] Here’s to the night that keeps passing us around, One little toast and the whole place turns into town. A laugh from the corner, a story by the rail, New friends trading punchlines like postcards by mail. Pour one for the stranger who came in alone— By closing, they’re calling each other their own. [Bridge] Near midnight, the ferry brings back the musicians, The deckhand finds rhythm, the teacher finds two-step. The baker sings harmony, the lifeguard conducts us; I’m polishing glasses and missing a step. I’ve heard bigger stories, but never a better Small-town-in-an-hour assembled this way. [Final chorus] Here’s to the night that keeps passing us around, One little toast and the whole place turns into town. A laugh from the corner, a story by the rail, New friends trading punchlines like postcards by mail. Pour one for the stranger who came in alone— By closing, they’re calling each other their own. [Outro] The ferry pulls out and the harbor grows quiet, But somebody’s humming that tune down the way. I set out the limes for the ones coming tomorrow— The stories keep sailing, and so does the day.