Train

Train

That train to hell ain't a main line run

Its a branch connection in the late-day sun,

People gettin' off and people gettin' on

Mercy's for the weak and vice is for the young.

Its a smooth ride there and a rough ride home

A few know how to nagivate

You always feel alone,

Your compartment boasts a chair for one;

No room to move or breath,

Walls rattlin' like an old mans teeth;

There is no time to grieve.

And yonder in the veins below

Where dead men shovel coal,

You search with bleeding hands to find

The pieces of your soul.

You scrape them from the bottom black

And tape a patchwork whole,

Fight through the stench and climb back on

For the roughshod rail-ride home,

And although you're back to platform one

The scars from the ride don't fade,

They shoved you on the track to die

But you showed them of what you're made.

~Darkling Plain, Aug. 24, 2006