Coster shops at Knoxville

Could i bother you for a father?  
 
run run the rails  
up into Virginia,to parked Bristol motel rooms.  
 
run run the rails into bourbon soaked Kentucky,  
back in the wooded hollers.  
 
ringing in the gravel,  
the lead seeped train yards.  
 
is it Norfolk?  
two white bay mare steeds besting each other,  
burning black as coal into the night.  
thoroughbred,  
content on cutting through the winds old ways.  
 
drifting through the days at dusk,  
as detaching as train cars,  
but cabooses cease to exist.  
 
pull that line to hear the blowing whistle,  
whisking around the wilderness,  
the train cars,  
the southern Appalachian's.  
 
call me by a namesake  
but repetition failed to forge a third generation.  
call me home once again  
and i've forgotten what heritage looks like,  
except in words wishing only to carry a legacy that will be forgotten.  
 
railroaders use to build boilers in the Coster shops  
but the lines slowed down.  
we gave in to the tires of the roadway and the wings in the sky.  
 
take pride in what you bring to life with your bare hands,  
break free from what expectations have been set for you  
and find your own way in life.