When I grow up I want to be an engine driver
I'll build up my own head of steam, 25 horsepower

Old hands, new power
More miles per hour
Strange light in the ancient mills
New sights, old eyes
Giant leaps under small skies
A sense of death in the hills

But when I pull off, I don't want to follow timetables or tracks
I will cut new paths through topsoil and tarmac

Old hands, new power
More miles per hour
Strange light in the ancient mills
New sights, old eyes
Giant leaps under small skies
A sense of death in the hills

The only thing that I will leave behind
Is a simple trail, two stark parallel lines
That cut their way away across the land
Which our children will preserve but won't understand