Well, the last time I rememberthat train stopping at the depot,Was when me and m y Aunt Vetacame riding back from Waco,I remember I was wearingmy long pants and we was sharingconversation with a manwho sold ball-point pens and paper.And the train stopped in Clifton,Where my aunt bought me some ice cream,And my Mom was t here to meet us,When the train pulled into Kopperl.But now kids at night break w indow lights,And the sound of trains only remains,In the memory of the ones like me,Who have turned their backs on the splintered cracksin the walls that stand on the railroad land,Where we used to play and then run awayfrom the depot man.I remember me and brotherused to run down to the depot,Just to listen to the whis tlewhen the train pulled into Kopperl;And the engine big and shiny,black as coal that fed the fire,And the engineer would smile and say,"Howdy, how ya fellows?" And the people by the windows,Playing cards and reading papers,Looked as far awa y to usAs next summer's school vacation.
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