The Kalgoorlie Mine © R. Leschen (18 November 2006)

 

The windscreen is frosted, the daylight has darkened, and Iíve turned off my sensory lines,

I feel an achin, from twin towers breakin, whose seeds have been blown to the ground.

 

The majors and captains are keepin us captive, while the troops are pinned to the sand,

Iíve been unable, a songbird disabled, to cut loose from the grip of the land.

 

A rear-view reflection, with two eyes beamin, pulled to the side of my door,

Hey stranger why linger, he pointed two fingers, Kalgoorlieís the end of the line.

 

Straight through the window, that person or shadow, sang an old country tale,

You were the hero, and I was a zero, and yet we shared the same mine.

 

Kafka had called up, his legs went straight up, and his castle had turned inside out,

I told him to move on, make tracks and then head on, straight to the Kalgoorlie Mine.

 

The diners are open, for green stamps or tokens; you can buy anything that you find,

The swirls of cream soda, reminds me once over, of a girl I left behind.

 

Teardrops and snowflakes, I beg no more heartbreak, letís rock to the rhythm and the rhyme.

Plum trees and cotton, the heartwood was rotten, head left to Kalgoorlie Mine.