Song about a train

The train is rushing, and I stand inside:
The banging rail, the smell of not belonging here…
I’m looking back to see my quickly passing life,
No way to bring back its company –
There on the station I remember our goodbyes,
My hair still curly, the world that had no fear,
How little knew I that many would get off
Of those who started this trip with me.

And so I’m moving forward, or maybe not –
I guess I’m moving though, ‘cause everything does end,
‘Cause I can see the trace of railroad tracks,
It’s slowly drifting away from view –
But if I were to look inside the train,
It hardly ever changes; it still looks the same, my friend,
The same old singing, the same old laughter sound,
And clanging bottles, to which we’re always true.

My fellow travelers are not much into God;
But overall, they’re fine, though they debate with me.
To the guitar we’ll gather as a crowd
To sing of life and of its many faults;
Look, here’s one smiling; that one’s awfully sad,
And each one has his tale, and his own history.
They are all different, they travel different ways,
Except the train is the same for all.

I’m standing in the train as dusk begins to set,
The banging rail, the smell of not belonging here…
And one more passing day, to whistling noise,
Rolls from beneath the wheels and flies away.
Where is my stop? It may be far ahead,
But then, for all I know, it may be very near...
Let’s sing, my friends, while train is pulling on,
And what’s ahead – that’s for the driver guy to say.