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I Gwatched the rain; it sDettled in. We Cadd9disappeared for dEm7ays again. GMost of us were sDtaying in, lCadd9azy like the Gsky. GThe letters flew aDcross the wire Cadd9filtered through a miEm7llion liars. The Gwhole world smelled like Dburning tires the Cadd9day John Henry Gdied.
We knew about that big machine that ran on human hope and steam. Bets on John were far between and mostly on the side. We heard he put up quite a fight. His hands and feet turned snowy white. That hammer rang out through the night the day John Henry died.
When John HEm7enry was a lCadd9ittle bitty bGaby D nobEm7ody ever Cadd9taught him how to rGead D but he Em7knew the perfect Cadd9way to hold a haGmmer D was the Cadd9way the railroad baron held the dAmeed.
It didn't matter if he won, if he lived, or if he'd run. They changed the way his job was done. Labor costs were high. That new machine was cheap as hell and only John would work as well, so they left him laying where he fell the day John Henry died. John Henry was a steel-driving bastard but John Henry was a bastard just the same. An engine never thinks about his daddy and an engine never needs to write its name. So pack your bags, we're headed west and L.A. ain't no place to rest. You'll need some sleep to pass the test, so get some on the flight and say your prayers John Henry Ford 'cause we don't need your work no more. You should have known the final score the day John Henry died.