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I've given the better part of my days
to the consideration of small things,
gingerly went unpicking the seams
of a long dried-up stream (ya-ho, ya-ho, ya-ho)
dwelling at length inside the mad waltz
of spores on a gust of the mind's hair,
and when I dream I really go
to an ocean of stone.
In the shadowed shallows our spirit wells.
Move closer, move closer.
On the radio I hear the blue hills.
Move closer, here and there.
When I was young the better part of my days
were spent to the nursing of my mum.
I found my pleasure whenever I could
in tennis and piano (ya-ho, ya-ho, ya-ho).
And though we were half-broke
I managed to go
to study at the University of Melbourne,
Melbourne.
In the shadowed shallows our spirit wells.
Move closer, move closer.
On the radio I hear the blue hills.
Move closer, here and there.
A week at sea the better part of my days
holed up in the cabin lost in boundless study,
I'm on my way to the UK
with Ethel Mclennan (ya-ho, ya-ho, ya-ho).
Unfortunately the fungal cultures we brought with us
have started to degrade.
There are no birds.
No bushes or trees.
No beasts nor people.
Only this single stem.
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