Past the dead train of existence
Born for a journey
Always onward
Endless unbroken

Their eyes are made of buttons
Their mouths are gray as fog
They crouch on machines
Driven by the blood of their dreams

By the tracks of dust
A world of endless ruin
Amidst bustling travelers
Chattering plotting their goals

In the vast hall of life
Between crosses and screens
The hours flutter by
In darkened cracks eagles are waiting

By the tracks of dust
On the shores of empty trains
Where old years rush like echoes
By the tracks of dust