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 Grand]1 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]2 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.