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