I love the roaring magic of the trains
the song of death they sing from track to track -
the humming in my heart that echoes back -
I love the murderous sound of rattling chains.
For trains are death in metal and on wheels,
enchanting, pulling, still just mere machines
that hurtle on into the lovely scenes
of inky night - little towns, empty fields.
But don't they make you think of shaking bones?
Black skeletons that snake cross every land,
and chain us down like grains of golden sand
that slip from out our grasp. The lights that shone
on you between the lines of steel and black
could not keep you here, they only took you back.
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