|
There is a lonely train called the 3.10 to yuma |
|
And it's the only train left for me to ride on |
|
I'll catch that lonely train called the 3.10 to yuma |
|
I'll get my ticket now for my last time |
|
They say the life of man is made up of four seasons |
|
And springtime finds him young and planting his grain |
|
And then the summer comes bringing warm rains of reason |
|
And time to reap his crop of heartache and pain |
|
The winter comes, finds him snow-cropped and laden |
|
He has been humbled now, walking into the rain |
|
But the rains of death never fall from the cloudless skies of yuma |
|
Time stand still for those on that 3.10 train |
|
There is a lonely train called the 3.10 to yuma |
|
And it's the only train left for me to ride on |
|
I'll catch that lonely train called the 3.10 to yuma |
|
I'll get my ticket now for my last time |
