The Devil's Train, a poem

That old train, the Devil’s own, runs on the bodies and souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

Demons ring an unearthly bell heralding a deadly knell

That old train, the Devil’s own, runs on the bodies and souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

The engine howls and wails along its ghastly rails

Demons ring an unearthly bell heralding a deadly knell

Its whistle wails with the agony of countless souls
That old train, the Devil’s own, fueled by the souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

Its brimstone furnace, ravenous, ain't never full

Fed by underlings throwing in tortured souls

That old train, dark as ash, runs through a landscape of broken bones, shattered dreams

'Neath crimson sky with an icy wind

The engine howls and wails on its ghastly rails

Demons ring an unearthly bell heralding its deadly knell

That old train, the Devil’s own, runs on the bodies and souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

Demons ring an unearthly bell heralding a deadly knell

That old train, the Devil’s own, fueled by the souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

The engine howls and wails down its ghastly rails

Its whistle shrieks with the agony of countless souls

That old train, the Devil’s own, runs on the bodies and souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

The days pass fast you can feel it in your bones

A cutting wind right through your own home, the summer sky, is it tinged blood red?

About that box, is it too late, are you now dead?

The ghoulish conductor smiles as he takes your ticket
He says, “You could have chosen the stairway to heaven. Now, get on the train for your eternity of pain.”

That old train, the Devil’s own, runs on the bodies and souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

Demons ring an unearthly bell heralding a deadly knell

That old train, the Devil’s own, runs on the bodies and souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

The engine howls and wails down its ghastly rails

Demons ring an unearthly bell heralding a deadly knell

Its whistle wails with the agony of countless souls

That old train, the Devil’s own, runs on the bodies and souls of the damned

Darkly manned, driven by the Devil’s own hand

(C) Marc Trepanier 2014