On a long and lonesome railway, West of the Hudson, you can listen to
the wheels a turnin', chompin' at the bit.  Feel the earth a rollin', feel
it command you with its moanin' sayin' ,"You were never meant to leave
that town where life does not begin." She says, "I'll take you to your
place of birth, I'll take you where your dreams make berth, but I'll cut
the wind right out of your sails, for you belong in concrete dirt. I'll
let you roam the forests and mountains, let you drink from the spring
that granted true loves first kiss that blissful mournin'. But don't you
think you can have your lake forever full of what you make, for in the
end you belong here where what you make is fake!" Listen to the call of
the engine, soft but surely creepin', let it wander across your spine
and in your mind seep in. Feel the earth beneath the metal, feel the
toil beneath your feet.  Then feed the endless jealousy of the city that
never sleeps.