When I grow up I want to be an engine driver

I'll build up my own head of steam, 25 horsepower

Old hands, new power

More miles per hour

Strange light in the ancient mills

New sights, old eyes

Giant leaps under small skies

A sense of death in the hills

But when I pull off, I don't want to follow timetables or tracks

I will cut new paths through topsoil and tarmac

Old hands, new power

More miles per hour

Strange light in the ancient mills

New sights, old eyes

Giant leaps under small skies

A sense of death in the hills

The only thing that I will leave behind

Is a simple trail, two stark parallel lines

That cut their way away across the land

Which our children will preserve but won't understand