Rail Yard Ghosts Grandsons Of Pullman Porters
[John Paul Wright]
This is called "Grandsons of Pullman Porters"
2011
The grandsons of Pullman Porters
And the grandsons of engineers
At the hotel
In the lateness of this summer eve
Walk into the hotel, burdened with tools
And paperwork
And stay where no one is really from
For a rest period
We do ride a magic carpet
Made from rocks, parts of trees, and steel
Victims of time and innovation
They call it progress
We call it labor
If John Henry only knew
He had dug is own grave
His pride was no value to business
But his story a lesson, and
Good morning America
You have no idea
What rolls on your ribbon rail
That is tied across your mountains, hills, and plains
You loved your railroads
And our children dreamed of employment
To be the next KC
Draped in history and pride
We roll past towns and farms
And Places that used to be
That still have names
But nowhere to go
Locked out of opportunity
While goods and services are rendered
In steel cars and boxes
From overseas
Your Native Son is dead
Your cities are drowning in debt
While they sell your American Dream
Back to you
For pennies on their dollar
And workers toil in midnight shifts
In the noonday sun
Miles out of view in sweatshops
And Orient plantations
While poisons are delivered on time
To your decimated soil
