North Central, Monday morning rain
twenty -five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey,
the train pulls out of Kangakee Roads along pass houses,
Passing trains that had no name,
freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the
Well it's good morning America now,
I'm a train that comes to the
I'll be gone five hundred miles
Dealin' cards with the old
Feel the wheels rumblin' near the floor
And the sons of foregone porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic
Mothers with their babes asleep
rockin' to that gentle beat
Good morning America, how are you?
I'm a train to go to the city
I'll be gone by a hundred miles
Changing cars in Memphis,
we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
seem to fade into a bad dream
Steel rails still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings a song again
Passengers will please refrain
And this train got to disappear
Good morning America, how are you?
I'm a train to go to the city of
I'll be gone five hundred miles
Well it's good morning America,
I'm a train to call the city
I'll be gone five hundred miles
I'll be gone five hundred miles