Maybe it is the sound, lullaby, sway, clickity clack, like a baby being rocked. Or the views, through the back yard of America. Through fields of flowers, along mountain tops, through carved tunnels of massive rocks, over bridges, rivers and along the sea, train keeps a rolling all night long, saying listen to the breeze, listen to the trees that flash by. The sounds of the cities are far away, cause we don’t get all that close to them. Industrial institutions maybe, where lots of tracks intersect, dropping off cars, and animals and machinery.
Or the lonesome far away sound of the whistle blowing when it is coming close to the tracks. Stand back, peoples, stand back, hear me coming, choo, chooing down the tracks. Tracks made of steel, wheels made of steel, metal upon metal, rails from east to west, north to south, all around. Wonder how long it would take to go through all the states. So many stops along the way. Major cities, stop at, lots of little towns, if it’s too darn small the train goes by but doesn’t stop, just slows down, unless it is a freighter bringing feed, or other products that we need.