Engine Driver By The Decemberists

I'm an engine driver
on a long run,
on a long run.
Would I were beside her:
she's a long one,
such a long one.

And if you don't love me, let me go.
And if you don't love me, let me go.

I'm a county lineman
on the high line,
on the high line.
So will be my grandson:
there are powerlines
in our bloodlines.

And if you don't love me, let me go.
And if you don't love me, let me go.

And I am a writer,
writer of fictions,
I am the heart that you call home.
And I've written pages upon pages
trying to rid you from my bones,
my bones, my bones.

I'm a money-lender:
I have fortunes
upon fortunes.
Take my hand for tender.
I am tortured,
ever tortured.

And if you don't love me, let me go.
And if you don't love me, let me go.

And I am a writer,
writer of fictions,
I am the heart that you call home.
And I've written pages upon pages
trying to rid you from my bones.
I am writer,
I am all that you have hoped of.
And I've written pages upon pages
trying to rid you from my bones,
my bones, my bones.

And if you don't love me, let me go.
And if you don't love me, let me go.