Slim Dusty – When Snowy Sings Of Home (Guitar)

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From the window of my city home I hear the whistle whine,

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Of the outbound western mail train,    as she thunders out on time,

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From a room that overlooks the lights and the breakers white with foam,

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I listen while my old mate Snowy sings a song of home.

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Just an old man with an old guitar and a voice that's cracked and dry,

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And a million songs and stories, of the golden days gone by,

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When through that magic wonderland of the great outback we'd roam,

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My thoughts go back along the track when Snowy sings of home.

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Oh the station mobs from Coopers Plains when the drought was on the land,

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And we drove them down through Birdsville,    on a track of blazin' sand.

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And the shearing sheds at Goolagong and the woolshed hops at night,

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Oh the girls we loved and left behind come dancing back tonight.

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The branding fires at Barradean, the timber camps at Kew,

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With the butcher birds at dawning, making diamonds in the dew.

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Oh the storm birds cry and the wheat waves high in the fields of golden loam,

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The ghosts of old mates gather round when Snowy sings of home.

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Then I close the door behind me, in the telly's flickering light.

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I see Mary and the happy kids in bedtime clothes so white.

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Their laughter rings out gaily and the babies' bright eyes shine,

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All the tender ties that bind me to a life that isn't mine.

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But those days have gone forever and they've left me in their stead,

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The garden and the bundy clock, and slippers by my bed.

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Though the great mobs go on tramping, miles of Mitchell grass to roam,

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I can let them go I'm happy till Snowy sings of home.

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Just an old man with an old guitar squint eyes and shaggy mane,

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Who shared those days of glory, that will never come again.

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In a wonderland of dust and sand where fancy longs to roam,

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But I never dare to wander there till Snowy sings of home.