The night is as black as the coal dust on the tracks, up to the east day is dawning.
From time to time I get women on my mind, I'm a son of a gun.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
The train that I'm on is a hundred boxcars long so I don't sleep through to the morning.
That's some chilly wind in this gondola I'm in, I wish I had a glass of beer.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
The boardinghouse reach is a thing no school can teach you, I confess I've been outfumbled.
And the sound of the beans boiling through the evergreens sure do please a hungry man.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
The sound of the wheels rebounds across the fields, I'm a name with no number.
And so I guess I'd be drifting more or less, but still it's not meant to be.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
Borderstone, Borderstone gonna cross your line tonight.
Borderstone, pretty little town, gonna make my bed tonight.
Writer(s): Gordon Lightfoot
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