Tekster: Million Dead. Other. Engine Driver.

When I grow up I want to be
An engine driver.
I'll build up my own head of steam-
Twenty-fice horsepower.
But when I pull off, I don't want to
Follow time tables
Or tracks.
I will cut
New paths through
Topsoil and tarmac.
Old hands, new power,
More miles per hour-
Strange light in the ancient mills.
New sights for old eyes,
Giant leaps under small skies-
A sense of death in the hills.
The only thing that
I will leave behind is
A simple trail-
Two stark parallel lines
That cut their way away
Across the land
Which our children will preserve
Bot won't understand.