Along the sprawled body of the derailed Great Northern freight car,

出轨的大北方货车趴着，在车身旁边，

I strike a match slowly and lift it slowly.

我慢慢地划亮一根火柴，举起它。

No wind.

没有风。

Beyond town, three heavy white horses

城外，三匹粗壮的白马

Wade all the way to their shoulders

在筒仓的阴影中一路跋涉，

In a silo shadow.

阴影没过了它们的肩膀。

Suddenly the freight car lurches.

突然，货车摇晃了一下。

The door slams back, a man with a flashlight

门砰地一声关上了，一个拿着手电筒的男人

Calls me good evening.

对我说晚上好。

I nod as I write good evening, lonely

我点了点头，在我写下“晚上好”时。有些孤独，

And sick for home.

有些想家。