Train

No way to slow down,
The ever running machine,
On the rails of gold,
No stopping it this day,
The engine is warm, and the air is cold,

Hear the shrill of her whistle,
The driver is soot faced Mr. Thistle,
Says he's the Man and she's the bride,
He really enjoys the ride,
This machine is his pride,

Chugging is this old beauty,
Over rivers and hills,
Passing through tunnels and windmills,
Children waving their hands with a glee on their face,
This lady still has grace,

Oh! Look, the break of dawn,
The sun rising, but we are gone,
To greet another land,
On this gilded grand,
Lost in time and our memories canned.