You may not believe it, but I don't believe in miracles anymore.And when I think about it, I don't believe I ever did for sure.All the things I've said in songs, all the purple prose you bought from me.Reality's just black and white, sentimental things I'd write never meant that much to me.I used to be the main express, all steam and whistles heading west.Picking up my pain from door to door, writing all the storyline, furnace burning all the time.This train don't stop, this train don't stop.This train don't stop there anymore.You don't need to hear it, but I'm dried up and sick to death of love.You don't need to hear it, but I'm dried up and sick to death of love.If you need to know it, I never really know.I understood that stuff.All the stars and bleeding hearts, all the tears that welled up in my eyes.Never meant a thing to me, read them as they say and weep.I've never felt enough to cry.I used to be the main express.All steam and whistles heading west.Picking up my pain from door to door, writing all the storyline, furnace burning all the time....but this train don't stop, this train don't stop....this train don't stop.When I say that I don't careIt really means my engine's breaking downThe chisel chips my heart againThe granite cracks beneath my skinI crumble into pieces on the groundI used to be the main expressWhile steaming whistles heading westI'm picking up my pain from door to doorI'm riding on the storylineThe furnace burning over timeAnd this train door will stopThis train door will stopThis train don't stopThis train don't stop there anymoreThis train don't stopNo, this train don't stopThis train don't stop there anymoreguitar solosolo