The long and lonely whistle echos across the valley floor,
I wish I was on that train headed out to the western shore.

Across the Kansas plains and into the mountains high.
The clanging rhythm of the wheels singing as the miles go by.

Across the now green ski slopes to the mount of presidents so high,
those four looking down upon us as we roll slowly by.

Looking up from the floor of the canyon as the whistle echos low.
God made this land so beautiful. Besting even the great Van Gogh.

We'll see the giant Sequoias, ride the cable cars up and down,
stand on the Golden Gate Bridge, eat sushi in China Town.

We'll play all day in the ocean, cruise the boulevard, see the sights.
Then climb aboard our train once more headed east into the night.

We'll cruise through the Painted Desert and across the Texas plains,
Then head north to Kansas City and be glad we're home again.

Sitting here on our front porch we'll let our minds roam free.
Wishing we could go there again and gaze upon the sea.

So we'll take our dream vacation in our minds alone.
We'll catch the train heading west, when we hear the whistle moan.

05/06/2009

Posted on 05/07/2009
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