An angel face of ghostly white, and the moon looks down on rust,

Her face a spangled mirror, to the tarnished gold of dust,

The shell of traveled tracks, the whisper white of whistles death,

And through the mist of moments, her train took its last breath.

--

A dewy tear of peaceful lust, and the moon weeps for a lonely dream,

The memory a whistle made, in the nightmare of a scream,

And tortured branches reach, to break a twisted shell,

A rusty weathered dream, that from old grace so fell.

--

Silent lace of falling tears, make shadows on old rust,

As the moon so mourns old paths, old memories now dust,

And below her spangled face, tears set free old dreams,

The ghost of tarnished gold, her train on gilded seams.

--

Shivering through the mist, a cherry coloured lust,

The new train sheds a light, forgetting screaming rust,

But too soon those tortured arms, reach for that ruby face,

And screeching metal screams, falling far from grace.

--

And where once there was an angel, of ruby running light,

Now there is a death, dark in amber night.

A skeleton of rust, bones of metal broken,

Ruby now a rust, of rivulets unspoken.

--

The spangled face of moonbeams, forgets her sweet seduction,

The fate of screaming whistles, just her mind construction,

And though the mirror of her face, on rainy nights still weeps,

She cannot forget, that her ruby train still sleeps.