The Song of the Log Train Man.

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219 Hubbard, North Fort Myers, Fla. 39303

Where the tall pines grew our whistles we blew
Over rails that were crooked and slim
With our throttles wide while sand we plied
We got our trains 'In The Wind'

We backed them out in the early dawn
Drivers slipping on the dew-wet rail
Worn wheels rolling on the rusty iron
Made the music of the log train rail.

Homeward bound in the evening time
Long after the sun had set red
The log train man could never know
If he'd reach home living or dead.

To the chatter of a hooked-up Johnson Bar
And the poundong of brasses worn
We rolled them fast down the steep red hills
 All thoughts of Danger we scorned

With two long wails from the whistle and
A lantern hung on the front end
We blasted the darkness wide open
And somehow we all made it in.