West Of Winton

His eyes were used to distance and he talked much with his hands
I guess he sort of felt hemmed in a stranger to this land
And a lifestyle of another time, another time and place
Was written there deep in the lines of this old bushman’s face.
His attire was still in keeping with the far out channel lands
There was still a strength of character in his hard old bushman’s hands
And his old hat tilted forward was as much a part of him
As the 80 years of livin' that showed, underneath the brim.
Just somewhere west of Winton mate is where I’d rather be
To ride out in the dawn time, Mitchell to my horses knee
Unroll my swag beside a fire of some long forgotten camp
If I listen close maybe I’ll hear a tethered night horse stamp.
Just to see again the sunsets as the night falls on the land
Oh the silent sound of beauty makes the proudest heart expand
Where the lights of some old homestead beam a warm and welcome glow
And no travellin' soul went hungry in those days of long ago.
I see a dried up sandy creekbed when the dry comes much too soon
Watch the wild mob paw for water 'neath an early rising moon
Maybe I’ll see the dust cloud rising from the travellin' mob again
Hear the whips crack on the tailers as they cross the open plain.
Just somewhere west of Winton mate is where I’d rather be
To ride out in the dawn time, Mitchell to my horses knee
Unroll my swag beside a fire of some long forgotten camp
If I listen close maybe I’ll hear a tethered night horse stamp.