The sky was open.
Ready to swallow another heartbreak.
90 miles gaining,
and a full tank of gas.

You could hear the whistle blow from miles away.
A nostalgic jolt to your bones,
a shift slap from reality.

90 miles g a i n i n g
And a full tank of gas.

Metal on metal.
Red on blue.
Pain on pain.

He was aware.
He could've stopped.

But his mind was made up,
like the sky was without it's clouds.

The tracks had rusted over.
The pain had crystalized in his veins.

His foot pressed down harder.
the metallic taste of death,
with one simple action.

He could've stopped.
90 miles g a i n i n g
and a full tank of gas.

Metal on Metal.
Red on Blue.
Pain on pain.
But trains can't stop.