END OF THE LINE

 

 

                                           

 

                                                   END OF THE LINE

 

On the penultimate stop, where the tracks thin in the vast darkness of the cold northern border, a man steps aboard in a swirl of misting rain and snow – wearing a swagger that carries his wide brimmed hat and rattle snake boots to the empty seats of four.  Before sitting, he looks aft and smiles to the darkened empty car and gently removes his guitar from his back.   

As the train moans through the steep ascents and accelerates through the coniferous forest valleys, the man begins to strum.  The soft acoustic rhythm that is carried above the rattling of the frozen tracks awakens however, none who sleep.    It is the words from his soulful lips, in those next many miles that left a lasting image and so did resonate….

‘Oh my dear and so precious one 

know here and hear me now 

how His was the hand

that caught me when I fell 

Seemed forever just to say

that all would be well 

all would be well

all would be well

The Lord’s plan my darling it didn’t have to be mine 

such was just the way with the mighty Divine

All the way to the end of the line 

to the end of the line

the end of the line

end of the line

 

In the end his battle, well

that couldn’t be won

His body riddled

weary and worn

an inner strength

still did exist

refused and could never be torn

All the way to the end of the line 

to the end of the line

the end of the line

end of the line

 

These years now well

they’ve come and past so damn fast

I can’t sometimes even barely look back 

Just doing my best

to stay on close to the track

All the way to the end of the line 

to the end of the line

 

So within these strong weathered hands, 

born upon this vast and toiled land

I hold these leathered reins

 

Oh Lord you know

there’s a strength to be found 

in these veins

All the way to the end of the line 

to the end of the line

 

Come now then my son

come on and take my hand

come take my hand

Let’s keep riding on through our given night 

and cross that river to a higher ground 

Leave these here dry’n tears

never to be found

Let a cold rain cleanse this pain 

forever from our souls

exhaust its very existence

from our sight

All the way to the end of the line 

to the end of the line

 

Come this dawn’s awakened arrival 

we shall

we shall again once say

we knew

we knew

that all would be well 

all would be well

 

Darling my dear 

and so precious one 

know right here

hear me now

that this ain’t no end of the line 

Son, this ain’t the end of the line 

this ain’t no end of the line

ain’t the end of the line.’

 

Baby, this ain’t no end of the line 

this ain’t the end of the line

ain’t no end of the line

ain’t the end of the line. . . ’

 

 Sent from Rail 📞 . . .

 

© All rights reserved 2018

 

Author: Breck Masterson

Tales From The Rail is a collection of short stories revealed in observation during a commuters journey across this land. Most, if not all stories are based on what actually happened or at times, surmised to what might have happened. . . Granting on some occasions, levity to the mundane. Enjoy!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s