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It's a harsh dry land, it breaks your back and scars and gnarls your handsNow carcasses rot in the sun and dust silts up the damsSacked two men when the postie poked those blueys through the flyscreen doorsThe welfare state dried up ten years beforeIt's Hobsons' choice, they run this plain and the flocks melt into boneYou can drove the stock routes for a year and cripple life at homeI still look forward to every day but every day's the sameAwake in a sweat, a dream of the smell of rainBut a river runs silent, runs deep, I work this land, it grips me by my feetStaying 'til my blood runs cold, spark of the heart, iron in the soulMy great grandfather pushed his luck beyond the goyder lineNow all that's left are mute ploughshares and a gravestone caulked with limeIn tribute, I still use his Swiss barometer in vainFate be damned, the weather hasn't changedFifty miles by riverland, there's pasture fenced and sprayedProfit margins chinagraphed on boardrooms in L.A.Absenting landlords meet to match their smiles and fake suntansIn three years they'll have leached the soil to sandBut a river runs silent, runs deep, I work this land, it grips me by my feetStaying 'til my blood runs cold, spark of the heart, iron in the soulLetras de cancionesJosie searches saltbush, where rain once ran it's courseIt's a shock to see a child of twelve grow old upon a horseThe glory box lies locked with memories silent as the phoneBut even in the shadows, it's our homeGovernment relief just might keep breeding stock aliveThe agents jumped the cost of feed and the export market's divedAnd if it breaks, I'm still in debt until I'm ninety eightWill the last one out please shut the bloody gate? From Letras Mania