Driver, drive faster and make a good run 
Down the Springfield Line under the shining sun.

Fly like the aeroplane, don't pull up short 
Till you brake for the Grand Central Station, New York.

For there in the middle of that waiting hall 
Should be standing the one that I love best of all.

If he's not there to meet me when I get to town, 
I'll stand on the pavement with tears rolling down.

For he is the one that I love to look on, 
The acme of kindness and perfection.

He presses my hand and he says he loves me
Which I find an admirable peculiarity.

The woods are bright green on both sides of the line; 
The trees have their loves though they're different from mine.

But the poor fat old banker in the sun-parlour car 
Has no one to love him except his cigar.

If I were the head of the Church or the State 
I'd powder my nose and just tell them to wait.

For love's more important and powerful than 
Even a priest or a politician.