| And I can’t tell this story from the start
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| Its origins have been lost, forgotten to the halls of the past
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| But let’s begin on the golden plains of Halls Creek
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| With a boy named Ross living on a farm
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| The second of five kids, who shared a surname that dated back
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| Two generations to a migrant who’d changed it to Smith
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| Nice and plain, he wanted to fit in
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| At a time when people might not take too kindly to the likes of him
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| Now they spent their days herding cattle on the station
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| Tough times, depression era, rural isolation
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| A simple life, they’d gather by the piano at night
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| With poems by Banjo for entertainment
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| But that all changed in '39
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| With his slouch hat, he shipped off for the front line
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| Fought in trenches and saw men slain
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| From the jungles of Borneo to the desert of El Alamein
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| On his way home, he met a lovely nurse
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| Decided he would make her the offer that she deserved
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| Got down on one knee and asked her to take his hand
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| And it wasn’t too long before they were making plans
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| Gave me my voice
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| To sing refrain
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| You’ve felt it all
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| Hunger to a war of pain
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| You gave me fire
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| To build my path
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| Each stepping stone
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| A lesson from your winding past
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| And as I stand
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| My outstretched hand
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| Reaches for you
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| To show my gratitude
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| A presence from
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| Before my time
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| Traces that I’m
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| Bound to carry down the line
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| Fast forward, now the boy’s a man with children of his own
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| Colts roaming on the farmstead that they call home
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| Days turned to years
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| As the steam rose from the puffing billy and weathered hands worked the shears
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| Through flood and drought he kept food in the family’s mouths
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| His four kids getting taller now
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| Each climbed to the top of that old pine tree
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| Just to make believe they could see all the way to Sydney
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| The second son watched the setting sun through his window
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| With dreams of making his home in the big smoke
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| So he finished school and headed to university
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| Determined he would be the one to get the family’s first degree
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| One of the lucky ones, his birthday missed the draft
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| As his friends headed off to Vietnam
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| Horror on the evening news on the TV set
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| Made him join the march in the streets in protest
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| Between studying and going to home to work every summer
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| He met a pretty girl and fell in love
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| Put a ring on the finger of his beauty, they had two sons
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| The youngest was none other than yours truly
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| So here I stand, the grandson of a drover
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| A strong man who sang songs watching over his land
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| So I know where I get the damn nerve from
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| To step up on the stage and make the people throw their hands
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| Flipping through these old photographs
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| All the poems he’d recite and the notes he sang
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| Flashed before my eyes as he lay
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| With the family gathered round his bed on that ANZAC day
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| And the last post played on the TV
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| In the hallway as he passed away
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| And I said to myself that I wasn’t gonna cry
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| As the tears rolled down my face, I stood by and watched
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| It unwind following the bloodline
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| As the life flowed out his veins
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| But he remains, every time that I speak my rhyme
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| He lives on in what I leave behind, another down the line
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| It’s that beautiful but tragic fate, that awaits us all
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| Sure as the seed grows to the tree its leaves will fall
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| We free fall into blackness
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| Till we’re nothing more than just a memory to be recalled
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| What we wouldn’t give for a minute just to sit and chat
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| But nothing we can wish is ever gonna bring 'em back
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| Though we can’t press rewind
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| They live on in what we leave behind, another down the line
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| Gave me my voice
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| To sing refrain
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| You’ve felt it all
|
| Hunger to a war of pain
|
| You gave me fire
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| To build my path
|
| Each stepping stone
|
| A lesson from your winding past
|
| And as I stand
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| My outstretched hand
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| Reaches for you
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| To show my gratitude
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| A presence from
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| Before my time
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| Traces that I’m
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| Bound to carry down the line
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| And another one falls and another one’s born
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| It’s another one down the line
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| And another’s gone and another lives on
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| It’s another one down the line
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| And another one falls and another one’s born
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| It’s another one down the line
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| Though we can’t press rewind
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| They live on in what we leave behind, another down the line
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| I just felt that he had something that was just strong, a strong person,
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| and whether he was right or wrong strong ideas we’d get along |