| How long is this train son
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| I heard his fragile voice
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| I didn’t want to listen but there really was no choice
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| It seems like it goes on forever and I waited for so long
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| The old man’s breath came slow and smelled of whiskey in the dawn
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| On a cold November morning in the gentle mist of rain
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| There’s just so many reasons that people wait to meet a train
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| And as I waited for my sister to come down the metal stairs
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| He told me that his son had not been home in fifteen years
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| And I barely seemed to notice the tears behind his face
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| But his wishes were no strangers to the people in this place
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| The old man stood there waiting for a young man dressed in blue
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| Then he handed him a neatly folded flag and said for you
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| He said your son he died a hero in the service of this flag
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| The old man took it gently put it in his paper bag
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| Then I left him in the rain there but I’d still hear his voice
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| I try hard not to listen but there really is no choice
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| On a cold November morning in the gentle mist of rain
|
| There’s just so many reasons that people wait to meet a train
|
| How long is this train son
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| I can hear the pouring rain |