Bill back to the Bush   I worked with the farmers outback in dry bush Till I was promoted, their judgement, my push I don't need my boots now..... as much as I did and never chew grass.... and I can't dips me lid   I was out in the dryland so far from the lush red dust was the ochre, a saltbush the brush I'd sing every day then, some songs I'd write down like perpetual milestones showing how far from town Now spared from pencil and mahogony desk and the papyrus offensive with constance grotesque Back out to the farmers, my feet itching long Do I feel a thirst, a thirst for a song?   Back out to the farmland, the Murray, its plight the brown salty waters impairing its might I write songs every day enhancing the flow milestones and signposts that tell where we must go   copyright 2002 Blue Who and Old Shoe