Down at the station the tracks are cold

The wheels of thunder, they roll no more

And the heart of America cries for the souls

Who won't be rollin' home

The dragon weeps with empty eyes

The whistle sigh's no more in the night

It rests in the lines like a ghost in the music

The soul of America's pride

The toil of our fathers with foreign hands

They laid the tracks and they opened the plains

They fought the mountains and they merged our seas

They set America free

Tell me, where is the blaze of the hobo's cauldron?

The refuge for these poor and these fallen?

While it rests in the lines like a ghost in the music

The soul of America's pride

Foreign father, American son

Father see what your son has done

He's torn up the mountains and reshaped the plains

The dreams he dreams aren't the same

To the fallen ones who may still be askin'

"Who'd take time to stir these ashes

And who'd hear the lines of a ghost in the music

And kindle America's pride?"

Tell me, where is the blaze of the hobo's cauldron?

The refuge for these poor and these fallen?

While it rests in the lines, like a ghost in the music

The soul of America's pride