| Old Mate! |
| In the gusty old weather,
|
| When our hopes and our troubles were new;
|
| In the years spent in wearing out leather,
|
| I found you unselfish and true
|
| I have gathered these s together
|
| For the sake of our friendship and you
|
| You may think for a while and with reason
|
| Though still with a kindly regret
|
| That I’ve left it for late in the season
|
| To prove I remember you yet,
|
| But you’ll never judge me by their treason
|
| Who prop thy friends and forget.
|
| I can still feel the spirit that bore us,
|
| And often the old stars will shine
|
| I remember the last spree in
|
| For the sake of that other Lang Syne,
|
| When the tracks lay divided before us,
|
| Your path through the future and mine;
|
| Through the frost wind that cuts like whip lashes
|
| Through the ever blind haze of the drought,
|
| And in fancier times by the flashes,
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| Of light in the darkness of death,
|
| I have followed the tent poles and ashes,
|
| Of camps that we moved further out,
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| You will find in these pages a trace of,
|
| That side of our past that was bright,
|
| And recognize something the face of,
|
| A friend who has dropped out of sight.
|
| Oh I send them along in the place of,
|
| The letters I promised to write, (yeah)
|
| Old Mate! |
| In the gusty old weather,
|
| When our hopes and our troubles were new;
|
| In the years spent in wearing out leather,
|
| I found you unselfish and true
|
| I have gathered these s together
|
| For the sake of our friendship and you.
|
| Transcribed: Marten Busstra 2009] |