WORKIN' ON THE RAILROAD
Sky-high, this road to perdition. Wide open,
this thruway to Hell. I've parked the tank over
the garden, and rolled the howitzers and cannon
to the wall. Nothing can get past at all.
-
There's a sound you can make through your lips,
trying to imitate the clickity-clack of the train on the
track. Blue Monday won't let me in, and I've taken
the 5:21 to its guages. But all is not lost; I've found
you in stages. Benumbed, even the saints fall back.
-
Now the snow is whirling again, and something tells
me I'm in for a hell of a ride. When people won't talk
to me. When people won't nod. I'm a stranger now,
like Heinlein said, in a strange land and, oh God, and...
'I've been workin' on the railroad,
all the livelong day.'
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