Tom Waits

Well, it's hotter and blazes and all the long faces
There'll be no oasis for a dry local grazier
There'll be no refreshment for a thirsty jackaroo
From Melbourne to Adelaide on the overlander
With newfangled buffet cars and faster locomotives
The train stopped in Serviceton less and less often
No, there's nothing sadder than a town with no cheer
VicRail decided the canteen was no longer necessary
No spirits, no bilgewater and eighty dry locals
And the high noon sun beats a hundred and four
There's a hummingbird trapped in a closed down shoe store
This tiny victorian rhubarb kept the watering hole open for sixty five years
Now it's boiling in a miserable March twenty first
Wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson's curse
The train smokes down the xylophone, there'll be no stopping here
All ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer
No bourbon, no branchwater
Though the townspeople here fought the VicRail decree tooth and nail
Now it's boiling in a miserable March twenty first
Wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson's curse
The train smokes down the xylophone, there'll be no stopping here
All ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer