| I stood next to the tracks
|
| Just to feel something pushing back
|
| Tearing through each doubt and sin
|
| The train was an iron wind
|
| I climbed down underground
|
| To listen for a new sound
|
| Found a river underneath our feet
|
| Dark and silent, deep
|
| I’m an old guitar, won’t stay in tune
|
| Worn-out, faded, not fit for you
|
| But I want to be played by the unseen hand
|
| To make a good noise in the hallelujah band
|
| There was a place in the pines
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| A little spot, I called it mine
|
| Just a child but I knew somehow
|
| I know I’d never find it now
|
| I’m an old guitar with broken strings
|
| And tarnished surface, not fit for kings
|
| But I want to be played by the unseen hand
|
| To make a good noise in the hallelujah band
|
| I stood next to the tracks
|
| Just to feel something pushing back
|
| Tearing through each doubt and sin
|
| The train was an iron wind |