When I was just a little boy,
'Bout six years old or so,
I had a little wind-up toy,
And oh, how it would go.
I never knew the name of it;
I called it "Engin Joe".
My greatest thrill, I still recall,
Was watchin' Engin go.

It looked much like a "Thingumabob,"
With tail and glowing eye,
And wings which fluttered as it moved,
(Tho' it could never fly).
With red sparks shootin' from its mouth,
It rolled across the floor
While somewhere from the depths of it
Emerged a fearful roar.

Now I am old and worldly wise.
I've tasted pleasures rare.
But I have also, I must add,
Encountered black dispair.
And sometimes on those darker days,
In search of peace serene,
My mind goes back to re-create
That wonderful machine.

I close my eyes to rest awhile,
And see my toy once more;
Its glowing eye, the flapping wings,
The loud and fearful roar.
I'd pay 'most any price today,
If I could find that toy,
To help re-live fond memories
Of a happy little boy.