Blood Filled Dirt

Wistles blow Echoing though the mountain plain Blood drips with times gone by Scars covered by a grassy hill With rails laid that shall not last Smoke fills the mountain air Blackens the sky filled with hue Engines turn with power in stroke Burning coal filled with dirt Bang bang the cannon ball fly Like the engine acting like it wont die Puffing down the hill and lane Bought with times now gone by Scars that are hidden from view Given way to the smoke, the dirt and no more hue Cough cough lung of ash Gone the wistle That sighed filled with dirt