Charters Towers,
This place out west...
Which many folk,
It was the perilous quest...
In earlier days,
It was full of strife...
As a mining town,
To start your life...
Many came,
When the rumours started..
That nuggets of gold,
Were found and carted...
Those old times,
Were busier then...
When most the pubs,
Were full of mining men...
All had arrived,
With that fever itch...
Hoping to be the first,
To make it rich...
But many left,
The town in despair...
The dreams were gone,
Of being millionaires...
Now a days
The town is still,
There’s no more gold,
In those yonder hills...
It’s now a place,
Of peace and quiet...
No bar room brawls,
Or those miners riots...
Now people come,
Just to retire when old...
In search of solitude,
And not for gold...
Len Newey