Saturday, August 26, 2006
Keep your ear to the rail to hear it sing. That baby will cry on the mountain high. The sky won't care either way. Keep your ear to the mountain to hear it moan, hear the trees who block the sky. The rail will hum, the rail will groan. The rail will run it's shining course, that brilliant arc, blind threatening bend. That serpent rail will never rust, those trees will wrap it overhead. That baby will cry because you're gone, that baby will cry till you come home.