When I grow up I want to be
An engine driver
I'll build up my own head of steam
Twenty fice horsepower
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
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