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We pulled in that town by the bypassThat you drive past without a second glanceShe's had her last danceYeah we took our chance on a street about four lanes wideDead quiet seven or eight at nightShe was the 1985 tidy town winnerBut now it's quiet after five you can't find dinnerPotholed roads just as the locals like itSome top spots near by spoken of on a quiet tipAnd the hire car felt the bumpsThe only light was at the pubShrug of the shoulders we headed in for counter grub"Unlucky son the missus has gone off to bedI can do a bowl of chips or some butter on bread"Sweet n' four schooies, three lemon-lime and bittersOne for the driver, two for the big hittersAnd we eat quick as if it's last drinks"Bar shuts at nine" he said, after I asked him[Chorus]Wind blowing through, ghost in my headThis lonely road, has been left for deadWind blowing through, ghost in my headThis lonely road, has been left for deadSongtexte"A game of darts" the fella asked the only drinker in the placeAn older bloke with worry lines that made a roadmap of his faceNow he could see that we were blow-insBut was showing hospitalityGradually we warmed when he chalked up a tallyHe stammered a little hammered, but totally balancingHe leaned over and added "Hey you up for a challenge?Test your talent, but what you say you tell me a tale"Tried his hand on the land, freight job with state railHe said "This was town of industry so many years backBut black years of drought and fire have left some fierce cracks"He says "You youngins probably don't wanna year thatI served in New Guinea, believe me son we adapt"It's nothing to be sneered at, we all foughtIt was a busy boom town now become back waterIt went Telstra, NAB then Australia postBut when that bypass went inThats when we failed the most[Chorus]Formerly a town of bushrangers I felt like a strangerThe air thin as the area paperDays feel long as The Hume, few semis throughNever thought they'd see the day they give thanks for diesel fumesJust two visits from memory by the local memberIn the past century, to the war memorial at the cemeteryThe train stations shutSo the only way to get north of the border is by catching a busBut the bastards only stop twice a weekRoadhouse, got some yellow postcards of roast and peasAnd the young mostly being city gives the feelingThat a home quickly becomes a house with paint pealingThis fellow was jovialIt won't be all over till the last beer's pouredMan, it's more than ceremonialOur last cheers sure, raised our schooner's in respectHad to jet full moon, long road ahead[Chorus] Aus Songtexte Mania