| I almost saw a train wreck
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| Then I had to look away
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| Never had I wondered before
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| What happened when metal bent and tore
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| I ran across manhole covers
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| Toward the center of my Earth
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| Valleys and other landmarks
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| Visions of big machines transformed
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| Walking around in St. Matthews
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| The winds were light and the roads were wet
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| Those green sloping mountains over
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| Leading up to gravel beds
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| My brother Paul was walking aimless
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| My father Pete had turned away
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| Paul stumbled toward a roaring train track
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| He was only four years old that day
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| Who’s in control?
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| Who’s in control?
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| I barely saw it happen
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| The ground’s monumental shake
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| There must have been two feet between them
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| Before those two hands snatched him safe
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| As we headed home to beat the sunset
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| I heard him crying overhead
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| That I night I dreamt we turned the lights out
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| And wandered far away from this
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| Who’s in control?
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| Yeah, who’s in control?
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| Now I’m sitting on a bridge
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| Out in Portland, Oregon
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| The old day begins to shudder
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| And rolling on, becomes another |