Now there's no train to Guysborough,
So it might be a good place to be...
And I count up my change,
And I wait for the Guysborough train...
Now I've sat in your kitchens,
And I've sung about your withering pain,
And I've brought on your fall,
Now I wait for the Guysborough train...
And I ride for all time, on the Guysborough line,
And I grow by the North Country rain,
And the North Shore's begun, the man I've become,
In rags, on the Guysborough train...
Though I know there will be one in time,
And the house that's alone,
Razed for the Guysborough line
Like the rain clouds sweet,
Both grown by that North Country rain,
Under the Guysborough train?