The old train just keeps chugging on, though it's best days have been and gone. Occasionally it fires steam into the air, reminding everyone that it's still there, but otherwise it makes its way, deviation is not within its métier, it grinds right by the pull of l'appel du vide, and shields itself within a chassis of roman-à-clef. It powers on, I know not to where,
nor does it matter,
nor does it care.