The Gondolas rattled down the tracks.
No surfing for there are no tops.
North Bank Fred will try to catch out,
The next time that the train stops.

Bindlesnif's boarding on both sides,
looking for a place to roll out.
Traveling the tracks looking for work,
gumboats cooking whatever is about.

They leave their Jungle's on the rail
trying to catch the hot trains.
Looking for something to call a life,
out of, whatever, remains.

Stamp collectors go from State to State,
collecting all the government will give.
Migrant workers ride the rail
for work, so they can live.

Rec. riders do it all for the fun,
the thrill of catching the ride.
Some do it trying just to escape.
Hopping somehow to again feel alive.

But the one we call the "Airedale,
he always goes it alone.
They think he is standoffish,
his story to them is unknown.

For once he was a wealthy man,
until his ivory towers fell.
Sense that day in September
his life has gone to hell.

He travels up and down the tracks.
Searching for what he can't find.
A reason why, again to try
to recapture what was left behind.

Till then he'll just be a hobo,
that rides alone on the rail.
He lost his wife and child
the day those towers fell.

Gondolas rattling down the tracks.
No surfing for there are no tops.
Hobo's getting on and off
whenever the train stops.

All alone he rides the tracks.
The one we call the "Airedale."
Sense the day, he was away.
He's been hung out on the rail.