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  1. Trains, pt. 2


Dear, will you till this earthen clay
Before we grow old and waste away?
Kick your feet up upon your bay
And celebrate our dying day.

Fear, we've not known your ways
O'er beaten rails and broken plains.
Blackened chimneys and empty trains
Will speed us to our dying day.

Clear an acre and run away.
Come back in fall and collect your pay.
Even what your mother say
Can't keep us from our dying day.

Our days are long, but our years are short
So hail the song when we depart.

Our days.