Just after midnight, on Spencer Street station,
I'd missed the last train, he sat down, beside me,
His eyes, bright, with fever,
Too many nights, in the rain.
I rolled him, a smoke, he took it and spoke,
In a voice, aged by winter's wine,
He said, "Son, when you're older,
Cold nights, get colder,
Alone, on the shoulder's, of time".
7 7 7 7
"Cit-y's no place,
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For old dro-vers", he cried,
4 6 6 6 -6
"The dam-per is wrapped,
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And the rent's, way too high,
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I'd love to see, The Al-ice,
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Once more 'fore I die,
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If wish-es, were hors-es,
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Old dro-vers, would ride".
He worked, walked & wandered,
From Cairns to Coonamble,
Since leavin' The Alice behind,
To follow a lady, there's always a lady,
In the midst, of an old drover's mind,
His words took me rovin', from shearin' to drovin'
Battlin' the wets & the drys,
Two-up, & tent fights, tall tales on hot nights,
Australia, looked, right through his eyes.
"City's no place, for old drovers, to ride,
You can't, boil, the billy,
And there's, no place, to hide,
I'd love to see, The Alice, once more 'fore I die,
If wishes were horses, old drovers, would ride".
I watched while his soul,
Slipped away from his body,
And the years, seemed to melt, from his face,
And I whispered a prayer, he was headed for Alice,
Back, in the saddle, again.
City's no place for old drovers to die,
They should be in the bush,
Where there their spirits can fly,
And meet their last sunset,
'neath the red desert sky,
If wishes were horses, old drivers would ride,
Old drovers would ride.
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