| A stranger lying on a bar room floor
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| Had drank so much he could drink no more
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| So he fell asleep with a troubled brain
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| To dream that he rode on that downbound train
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| The engine with blood was sweaty and damp
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| And brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp
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| And imps for fuel was shoveling bones
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| While the furnace rang with a thousand groans
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| The boiler was filled with lots of beer
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| The devil himself was the engineer;
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| The passengers were most a motley crew
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| Some were foreigners and others he knew:
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| Rich men in broadcloth, beggars in rags
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| Handsome young ladies and wicked old hags
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| As the train rushed on at a terrible pace
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| Sulphuric fumes scorched their hands and face;
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| Wider and wider the country grew
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| Faster and faster the engine flew
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| Louder and louder the thunder crashed
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| Brighter and brighter the lightning flashed
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| Hotter and hotter the air became
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| Till their clothes were burned and they were screaming with pain;
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| Then out of the distance there came a yell
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| «Ha ha», said the devil, «We're nearing home»
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| Oh how the passengers shrieked with pain
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| And begged old Satan to stop that train
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| The stranger awoke with an anguished cry
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| His clothes wet with sweat and his hair standing high;
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| He fell on his knees on the bar room floor
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| And prayed a prayer like never before
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| And the prayers and vows were not in vain
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| For he never rode that downbound train |