This Train is Bound for Glory (ya gotta hear the harmonica player!)

I’m waiting, waiting

for an overdue train to wisdom.

The dirt road under me goes exactly nowhere,

and I’m hoping for a locomotive with a smooth easy ride.

Better find the tracks first, I say to myself.

Better look for a city,

a city full of song and all-aboards,

instead of this long country lane

going round another corn field.

I’m sitting here waiting, waiting for that damned train. 

Better get up and walk, I say to myself.

Better find a pair of shoes to take me home in three clicks. 

Home where a rocking chair waits.

Home to dinner and a place to pee.

I sit in the grass, and think maybe I hear the clickity-clack

the clickity-clack of an iron horse. 

The ground trembles. 

My bare feet sparkle with a ruby light

and a man full of straw jumps from the corn field,

holding his open palms to me.

This train is bound for Glory, we sing

as we dance down a dusty golden road

toward those lights in the sky. 

This train…