Boy from Cooroy

Boy from the Cooroy By Alita Fahey and Colin MacKenzie He walked down the railway line Where trains and carriages did their time Brown spider weeds and daisy leaves Grappled there and climbed He lived a life now far away From where his spent his younger days And in his mind he thought he saw A living place that was no more Utes and trucks at the railway station A one way line to the same destination Made-up ladies in coloured dresses Shearing men with no fixed addresses He sees himself on an overgrown platform Waiting for the mail train to come Sees that boy so long ago Waiting for the sound of the heavy rail hum He was the boy from Cooroy and he heard the whistle blow Through the vacuum of time, under the sun's blistered glow Oh yes the boy from Cooroy could hear the timber cutters grind And the butter factory churning through the recess of his mind A narrow strip of bitumen Ran down the middle of the sun-battered town Butter factory and old sawmills Groan and tire, but never slow down The harvest sown beams silver light Wild winds whip through the dust and smite The old brown cows in the middle of the field Who clump together with hides of steel Hear the transistor radio As the local kids kick a stone down the road A Clydesdale horse is off to a show A hook-nosed truckie unties his load Television beams in a polished wooden frame Sitcom shows are all the rage And Zorro comes in black and white To fix the wrongs and make things right He was the boy from Cooroy and he heard the whistle blow Through the vacuum of time, under the sun's blistered glow Oh yes the boy from Cooroy could hear the timber cutters grind And the butter factory churning through the recess of his mind Its fifty years but it still lasts A vision gold from the past The memory will come and go But in his heart he'll always know He was the boy from Cooroy and he heard the whistle blow Through the vacuum of time, under the sun's blistered glow Oh yes the boy from Cooroy could hear the timber cutters grind And the butter factory churning through the recess of his mind