Here it comes again,
That melancholy sound.
Oh how magically,
It makes my heart pound.

That lonely whistle,
That soulful cry,
The teaming steed,
That passes by.

It makes me feel good,
It makes me feel whole,
As wanderlust
Goes through my soul.

The urge to move.
The yearn to leave,
I must stay here,
And that I grieve.

I listen all night,
And dream as I lay,
Of the desire to see
Places far away.

The mighty iron horse,
Cutting the night like a knife,
Leaves me now,
As it passes through my life.