And I can't tell this story from the start
It's origins have been lost, forgotten to the halls of the past
But lets begin on the golden plains of holes creek with a boy named Ross living on a farm
Second of 5 kids, who shared a surname that dated back 2 generations to a migrant who changed it to Smith
Nice and plain he wanted to fit in
But a time when people might not take too kindly to the likes of him,
Now they spent their days herding cattle on the station
Tough times, depression era, rural isolation
A simple life
They gathered by the piano at night and poems by Banjo for entertainment
But that all changed in 39
With his slouch hat he shipped off for the front line
Fought in trenches and saw men slain from the jungles of borneo to the desert of El alamein
On his way home he met a lovely nurse
Decided he would make her the offer that she deserved
Got down on one knee and asked her to takes his hand
And it wasn't too long before they were making plans
Gave me my voice, to sing refrain
You felt it all, hunger to a war of pain
You gave me fire
To build my path
Each stepping stone a lesson from your winding past
And as I stand
My outstretched hand
Reaches for you
To show my gratitude
A presence from
Before my time
Traces that I'm bound to carry down the line
Fast forward, no the boys a man with children of his own
Colts Roaming on the farmstead that they call home
Days turn to years as the steam rose from the puffing billy and weathered hands worked the sheers
Through flood and drought he kept food in the families mouths
His four kids getting taller now
Each climb to the top of that old pine tree
Just to make believe they could see all the way to Sydney
The second son watched the setting sun through his window
With dreams of making his home in the big smoke
So he finished school and headed to university
Determined he would be the one to get the families first degree
One of the lucky ones
His birthday missed the draft as his friends headed off to Vietnam
Horror on the evening news on the TV set
Made him join the march in the streets in protest
Between study and going home to work every summer
He met a pretty girl and fell in love
Put a ring on the finger of this beauty
They had two sons, the youngest was none other than yours truly
So here I stand, the grandson of a drover
Strong man who sang songs watching over his land
So I know where I get the damn nerve from to step up on the stage and make the people throw their hands
Flipping through these old photographs
All the poems he recited and the notes he sang
Flashed before my eyes as he laid with the family gathered round his bed on that ANZAC day
And the last post played on the TV in the hallway as he passed away
And I said to myself that I wasn't gonna cry as the tears rolled down my face
I stood by and watched it unwind following the bloodline as the life flowed out his veins
But he remains
Every time that I speak my Rhyme
He lives on with what I leave behind, another down the line
It's that beautiful but tragic fate
That awaits us all
Sure as the seed most of the trees leaves will fall
Freefall into blackness
Till we're nothing more than just a memory to be recalled
What we wouldn't give for a minute just to sit and chat
But nothing that we wish is ever gonna bring him back
Though we can't press rewind
They live in with what we leave behind
Another down the line
Gave me my voice, to sing refrain
You felt it all, hunger to a war of pain
You gave me fire
To build my path
Each stepping stone a lesson from your winding past
And as I stand
My outstretched hand
Reaches for you
To show my gratitude
A presence from
Before my time
Traces that I'm bound to carry down the line
And another one falls and another ones born
It's another one down to the line
And another ones gone and another lives on
It's another one down the line
And another one falls and another ones born
It's another one down the line
And though we can't press rewind
They live on with what we leave behind
Another down the line
I just felt that he had something that was just strong, a strong person, whether he was right or wrong, he was strong, it's as though it is we thought we were right, and ah, we get along

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