The train doesn't come here any more

The old railway track winds around and follows the lay of the land
The train doesn't come here any more but I still feel the rumbling of the track
I hear the men calling to each other as they work till day is done
The hot sun shining on their backs: there is no shade along those tracks
There is no cooling breeze as they take their final ease
Just the hiss of metal as finally: the wheels go thundering past.


There were times so long ago when many worked this land
They toiled and trekked and went about: they built their tiny homes
They suffered for their dreams as driest sands were crossed
Their poor old horse and wagon: just a mirage in the heat
These were the ones who did their best: who crossed the stormy seas!
From many other lands they came and cast their lot among the flies
Along with all the dust and wind as they made their mark in this wild brown land
As the kangaroos looked on and wondered what possessed these souls
To try and earn their crust among the dry and dusty bush lands
As the crows and magpies serenaded; predicting the rains when they came
Though few and far between they were! Still these people stayed!
To raise their families out here: to grow their crops and till their land
While others just shook their heads and looked for greener plains.
How long their journey out here: how peaceful their surrounds
As they listened to the native birds when they whistled their welcoming tunes
Oh what a hard and lonely life for all those pioneers
As they hitched their carts and plodded along over the hills and dales
Taking everything they needed in their precious baggage
Among their food and seed: looking for a stream or water course
To quench their thirst and that of their horse
Or maybe just on foot they trudged until they found their place
Set up their camp fire beside a babbling brook
Where dinner was made of damper and billy tea was boiled
As they camped beneath the shelter of the stumpy mallee trees
Beneath the magnificent starry skies: no city lights to dim them
No fire too big to spoil their view: the Southern Cross ascending
As they they ate their possum stew!