Dead Grammas On A Train - Thin White Rope

It crashed and burned about 1912

A real big fucker about a mile long

Rolled over houses underneath the turn

It killed the gramma of my perfect one

I know it is because of this that she was never born

I saw a picture 1939

A little girl with a face like mine

The train behind her hand an open door

She was the mother of my perfect one

And it is because of this that she was never born

So many tombstones by the railroad line

Say «This lady left not a soul behind»

Wait at the station, I don’t wait for long

Could’ve been a death train about 12 miles long

Stacked full of grammas for my perfect one

I don’t know what happened but she was never born