This is the road to somewhere
This is freedom mile
This is give me a handshake
And show me a smile
Lift and pass rock cake, clay cake
from the pile
Filling up gabions with mistakes
of a style
Broken hill makes for a prison of selves
Fragments of yesterday
Reveal themselves
In hillocks, and tussocks
In snags and strife
As they cut their trace
Into our life
The road to tomorrow
Leads on from yesteryear
Resurrecting
And grasping
For ideas out the air
But plans have been lain
And ideas sown
As each of us is rolling
And moving moss from stone
Lifting the weight
like Atlas off his shoulders
Pushing rocks uphill
Like sisyphus and his boulders
But hoping for better
And hoping for new
Because we all write in our letters
What we hope to come true
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