The Engineer - Ian Anderson

All along the new straight track we

Plough the old fields under

Seven good feet and a quarter inch

Broad rails to steal the thunder

100 picks in '36 sent navvies to meet their maker

As black Box Tunnel worms its way

Past the Company undertaker

Hard, cast in iron, that engineer:

God bless Isambard!

Piston-scraping, furnace-busting

(he) plays the winning card

Rain, Steam, Speed at Maidenhead —

Turner’s vision wide

Over bridges, girders, hot-driven

Rivets safely guide

Passenger wagons from Paddington

To Bristol’s briny blue

On to break the waves, with a thousand

Horses, turn the churning screw

Hard, cast in iron, that engineer:

God bless Isambard!

Piston-scraping, furnace-busting

(he) plays the winning card

But those bonnie lads from way 'oop

North, had to have the final laugh:

The ripe new age was the standard

Gauge, four foot, eight and a half

And rolling out across all Europe

Across the mad, bad Empire world

Came the age of steam and the engines

Roaring, bold brazen Jack unfurled

Arching palaces at Praed Street

Stand lofty and serene;

Home to their maker and his last two

Miles to sleepy Kensal Green

Hard, cast in iron, that engineer:

God bless Isambard!

Piston-scraping, furnace-busting

(he) plays the winning card