Black iron steam engine covered in ice
Like some Precambian monster moaning and snorting
Nothing is going to beat that beast in a fair fight

I've sat and watched the woodpiles grow through the summer
Now I'm sitting, smelling summer burn through the fall
Winter's coming on, days getting dreary
And I'm thinking this is the season that I leave you all

I've heard a man in a crisis falls back on the one he knows best
A murderer to murder, a thief to theft
And I don't want you to think that this is some kind of deathbed confession
But run is what I did when put to the test

My first recollection is a day in November
Seven forty seven tracing lines through the sky
Like some old gypsy curse silently preying
Upon the dreams of those who jealously will watch life pass them by

I've sat and watched my troubles pile through the summer
Now I'm sitting hearing my youngest cry down the hall
Winter's coming on, days getting dreary
And I'm thinking this is the season that I leave you all

I've heard that the son must bear the burdens of the father
But it's the daughter that's left to clean up the mess
And I don't want you to think that I'm asking for absolution
But run is what I did when put to the test