I was cleaning out some letters in a shoebox,
Came across a note from Pyrrha Bore,
Recognised the writing in an instant,
Cause the old bloke isn't with us anymore.
Said the North Bourke bridge had seen a lot of water,
Said he should've written sooner, that's for sure.
There's a lot of questions I never got to answer,
Cause the old bloke isn't with us anymore.
Was the Darling River flooding when he wrote it?
Was the western winter whipping at his door?
But I'm grateful he sounded in good spirits,
Cause the old bloke isn't with us anymore.
Da da da da da x
So as I hold these bits of folded paper,
I wonder what it is I keep them for,
A flimsy precious pen and ink connection,
To a bloke who isn't with us anymore.
Was the Darling River flooding when he wrote it?
Was the western winter whipping at his door?
But I'm grateful he sounded in good spirits,
Cause the old bloke isn't with us anymore.
Da da da da da da x
And he scratched out "Go with God" and wrote: "I love you both"
In all our time he'd not said that before.
But I'm glad that he could say it in a letter, our letter,
Cause the old bloke isn't with us anymore.
And when he rode out in the sunrise that bright morning,
On a trip he'd made a thousand times before,
Kurrajong spun headlong into Glory,
And the old bloke wasn't with us anymore.
Kurrajong spun headlong into Glory