I can hear the whistle blowing.
As a child, windows rattling,
lying in my bed, house shaking.
Watching the old man standing on
the street corner counting the cars
as the train labors and breathes along.
It's rumbling rolling through the earth.

I can hear the whistle blowing.
I moved to the inner city
behind the one hundred foot silos
where falcons fly and pigeons roost.
Sounds of thunder claps as the cars
separate and link together
while they're being filled with grain.

I can hear the whistle blowing.
Blaring blasts from the train's air horn
slowly passing through my new town.
Rambling through every street crossing.
Whatever time of day or night
it always seems to be passig.

I can hear the whistle blowing.
Reminds me of my parent's home,
when I moved to the city
and now in the burbs where I live.
Seems I'm always following trains,
I wonder, is this my last?
Will there be another train's tracks?
Can you hear the whistle blowing?