Woorden: Cowboy Junkies. Radio One Sessions. Last Spike.

Michael Timmins


Mornings feel so damn sad these days
without the call of the 8:15.
That old familiar echo has finally died away
leaving nothing but a chill
where there once was a mighty scream.

And I've watched the flat cars
take away our timber.
I've watched the coal cars steal our rock.
And now that we've got
nothing left to take we're told
that the wheels will stop turning,
the whistles will stop blowing,
these foolish dreams must stop.

Last year they closed down the post office,
took the only flag we had in town.
That old brick building still stands like a cenotaph
to a vision lost and buried in a very distant past.

And I've watched the flat cars
take away our timber.
I've watched the coal cars steal our rock.
And now that we've got
nothing left to take we're told
that the wheels will stop turning,
the whistles will stop blowing,
these foolish dreams must stop.

The longest train I've ever seen
was the train that you were on.
I walked you to the station,
we kissed and you were gone.
I dream at night about you coming home.
The train in the station, your uniform on fire
as you step onto the platform
the band plays a little louder,
and as we embrace your cap falls off.
Oh, I guess these foolish dreams must stop.

Mornings feel so damn sad these days
without the call of the 8:15.
Looks like this town is finally going to die away
leaving nothing but broken promises
where there once was small town dreams.

And I've watched the flat cars
take away our timber.
I've watched the coal cars steal our rock.
And now that we've got
nothing left to take we're told
that the TV station will be closing,
Main Street windows will need boarding,
that these foolish dreams must stop.