Down to the wreckage, me and my friend Joe,
With some money in our pockets
And holes in our coats.
And there sitting in the corner
Just a dusty blue old ford,
Waiting for its journey
Down this long, winding road.
We take it back across the border
To the dirt track we would go
And the dust would never settle
Till nightfall took us home.
And we'd sit and talk for hours
As the night grew deep and cold
And we swore to each other
That we never would grow old.
What is lost is not forgotten
What is gone is always there
As we move upon each station
These tracks just disappear
And down in the lonesome valley,
There were battles lost and won
Just minor little scratches
Toy soldiers just for fun.
And back home along the rail track
We'd throw stones into the woods
Watch the train come in our direction
To the banks we would run
What is lost is not forgotten,
What is gone is always there,
As we move upon each station,
These tracks just disappear.
In the back fields of our summer
Just lying in the hay,
We swore we'd never loose each other,
Lately we just drift away.