The Orient Express

Hear the whistle, shrill and blowing, eastward o'er the land it cries, On the Orient Express, we’re going, ‘neath the star-bespeckled skies. From the west I bid adieu now, New York’s clamor fades from view now, Worries vanish, cares are few now, mysteries our journey imbues. All aboard, the train is starting, rhythmic clatter, gently swaying, Through the landscape swiftly darting, secrets in the shadows playing. No more blues of Gotham City, nor the urban grime and gritty, On this grand and storied ditty, westward bound, our fates are written. Rusting hulks of old machines, left behind in fields of green, Echoes of forgotten scenes, as the mighty train careens. Silver service, gleaming bright, catching candlelight's soft flight, Crystal glasses, pure and white, shimmering in the fading light. Fine cigars, with fragrant scent, lingering where time is spent, Whispers hushed, and looks intent, on this journey, heaven-sent. Rocking gently, smooth and low, as through verdant vales we go, O'er the hills and by the flow, of rivers where the wild winds blow. Silk brocade, a rich display, where the train's dark secrets lay, Stories that the ages sway, while the hours slip away. Big wheels rolling, ever true, time and destination in view, Carrying me and carrying you, to adventures, strange and new. Though no bluebird's gentle call, nor a lover's sweet enthrall, On this train, I give my all, to the journey's mystic call. Many have traveled, long and far, beneath the guiding evening star, And I join them, where they are, on the Orient Express, so grand by far.