(dylan)Well, I ride on a mailtrain, baby,Canít buy a thrill.Well, Iíve been up all night, baby,Leaniní on the window sill.Well, if I dieOn top of the hillAnd if I donít make it,You know my baby will.Donít the moon look good, mama,Shininí through the trees? Donít the brakeman look good, mama,Flagging down the double e? Donít the sun look goodGoiní down over the sea? Donít my gal look fineWhen sheís cominí after me? Now the wintertime is coming,The windows are filled with frost.I went to tell everybody,But I could not get across.Well, I wanna be your lover, baby,I donít wanna be your boss.Donít say I never warned youWhen your train gets lost.