I sing the shearers’ strike, a woolshed fire
The miners on the line, the women’s ire
And Jesus walking through
The walls of darkest blue
I sing the beaten path with sodden load
Take care of myself and get off the road
I need to do this right or perish
Draw the blind, the light extinguish
One image in a hundred images
The workers worthy of their fair wages
I sing the beaten path with sodden load
Take care of myself and get off the road
Where does my work belong, my defiance
My fear of being in front of an audience?
I sing estate-like meadows
Weeds that burn, seed that grows
I sing the beaten path with sodden load
Take care of yourself and get off the road
Under the shade of a coolabah tree
I sing the words that speak to me
Write every day, fill seven pages
The workers worthy of their fair wages
I sing the beaten path, lighten the load
Take care of myself and keep off the road
