I park my battered pickup
And jump down to the ground
I’ve come back to Alabama
To pull out my old camera
And listen for a sound
The train tracks rust before me
And the dirt road crosses there
A crossroad in the tall grass
Grown on the cans and smashed glass
‘Neath trees and country air
I picked this lost location
For a final rendezvous
They’re tearing up the railroad
The once-proud train that I rode
To come back home to you
I see the train a-comin’
It’s rolling down the grade
With air brakes wildly squealing
Tarnished bronze bell pealing
Rolling slowly through the shade
I stare at that old engine
The engineer calls to me “Hey!”
I wave back to him gladly
Knowing soon that he will sadly
Go accept his final pay
The grand old locomotive
Runs rusting in the sun
Its olive jacket weathered
Reverser tightly tethered
And white herald almost gone
Its freight cars languish slowly
Rusty hoppers full of sand
Flatcars with new lumber weighty
Oil tanks from old well eighty
Their knuckle couplers hand in hand
The steel wheels thunder slowly
Down the hill and round the bend
Wooden boxcars creaking
Bearing journals squeaking
The caboose holds up its end
I watch the last train vanish
Beneath the summer sun
Soon the tracks will go away
Then the weeds will grow each day
But while it lasted, it was fun.