She's gaining, oh let her
Crawling on the cold iron.
Gonna race the peril thin time,
are you, silver thread, are you?
Eat not you nothing, but shocks. Is it all?
Like a slave does she listen to pilot.
Curves, lakes, even tiny guy falling's
huggin' yeh, don't they?
Thousand souls, nowhere but in you.
Even the funny Johnny returning to mum.
Aunt Alice waittinna see him.
Breaking wheels, greeting Master.
Her loco pushed and puffed on an echo,
"Hurry girl, you're late. Gotta rush now"
Wheels whirling, trunk trembling,
made her way pushing silly moaning air.
"Jane, chaircars delay? " exclaimed
her uncle Iree. He creaked away south.
He's confused in middle of tracks n' chaos -,
"you broke my shoot, my compensation?"
"Jane, you gotta halt, Fred' crossing junction"
Again and again she's late
Annoyed and spitted looks at him,
poor Fred's busy with mails to east.
Somehow the tired coaches and long tail
settled beneath trench of platform nine.
Hurried by Master, ran and whistled.
Oh, few miles ahead.
Headaches to be a good girl, oh.
Quakes on earth, she rushed to pace.
Final destination, and ends her voyage.
Many are home, the far stretch's her home.
Thinking of the compensations, screams the shrub.
