I sat there on the old stone tank Watching the salt water trickle in
Worrying about the money we haven't got in the bin and this bloody drought,
that we could do without.
Listening to the old pump jack grinding away,
in it's slow methodical way,
whilst catching a blood red sunset of another stinking hot day.
Gazing occasionally to the west and the east,
hoping for one cloud at last.
There was not one in sight, and the bloody wind refused to blow,
so the windmill stayed still, and the stock tanks wouldn't fill.
The sheep were hanging around,
waiting for that liquid gold to come out of the ground.
They were all dying for a drink, and reckoned their lives were on the brink,
'cause the troughs were as dry as the empty kitchen sink,
the bores were breaking down and the dams were nearly dry.
Was enough to make a grown man cry.
Then up on the tank jumped my old mate Red,
close by my little black kelpie Jed.
They both gave me a slobbery lick, as if to say "shit a brick".
We are mates forever, so pick yourself up and we'll stick this drought out together.
So I sat up straight instead of half on my back, figuring they've got the right idea!
and thinking as it got further into the night, I'm not going to give in without a bloody fight.
Hoping all the time the good Lord up above would hear my cries, before everything withers up and dies.

DA Treloar, Wiawera Station, Olary