another Dylan wordplay

Oh the time will come up when the trees will rot and the world will cease to be spinninglike eulogy air floatin high from a dull stare, the hour that our train comes in. and the tracks will unfold like a pathway for the soul for your dreary eyes to devour and the men living on the wall will scream from the hall that even Gods sometimes falter. Oh the waves of grain will sing in the rain and they'll ask for the destruction of all thats unholy like the end of fall when a fire is raging tall, the hour that the train comes in. and the birds of prey will fight desperately to stay in the boxcar that holds deaths secrets but the railman likes to fight and he does it every night so he checks for all the dirty numbers and they know he comes, so they binge on lifes sweet rum and try to forget they're about to be trampled but he arrives with a cane, to soften up their brains for messing with his bag of essentials and they run and hide like coyotes in the night, the hour that the train comes in. So now every hand is with hammer and all souls begin to clamor that the end may not be so violent. And the sky's blue hue envelops and validates all thats true, the hour that the train comes in .And the train's stone faced men will see the path of zen and will lock the brakes and walk into the field. when they lay in the grass, history's shadow of death will pass, the hour that the train in.