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