There have been so many stories,
Of which I’m sure you have been told...
About the life long search,
For that shiny stuff called gold...
It has seen the death of many,
In their quest to be the first...
To find the mother lode,
And satisfy their thirst...
And I knew of one such fella,
He was a shifty sort of bloke...
He wore an old Akubra,
And donned a tattered cloak...
He would venture in from god knows where,
With a swag hung on his back..
Then straight to the local waterhole,
Is where this bloke would yak...
He mumbled just a few words,
When he asked me for a ice cold beer...
Then quickly downed that glass,
With a soulful sneer...
He said he was a miner,
And a good one too at that...
He’d been in search of those gold nuggets,
From Perth to Ballarat...
I think I've of come across a beauty,
And I’m fixing to stake a claim...
So point me to the titles office,
That is why I came...
Now I told him where to go,
Then he spoke to me once more...
Don’t tell anyone about this mate,
Or I’ll be back to settle up the score...
He slowly rambled out,
He had one thing on his mind...
To go and stake his claim,
There were papers he had to sign...
A few weeks had passed on by,
No word from this strange old bloke...
Was all of this a just a story,
Was it some old miners joke...
So I asked the local people,
Whether they had seen him on the track...
He wore an old Akubra,
With a swag upon his back...
No one at all had seen him,
So I’d searched the roads out west...
I had to see how he was going,
This was my only quest...
Then up there in the distance,
Beneath a gidgee tree...
Crouched this old stranger,
Buckled over on one knee...
I lay him down real slowly,
He was pale and out of breath...
It was easy to see this fella,
Was very close to death...
He told me he fell down a mine shaft,
And he’d broke a leg or two...
Yet managed to crawl this far,
Only to be struck down by the flu...
It was pneumonia by the looks,
He’d been laying there for days...
Has God finally punished him,
For his wicked ways...
I tried to help him up,
To get him back to town...
He didn’t want to move,
He just lay there with a frown...
He said his time was over,
And thanked me all the same...
But before I go to heaven,
Can you look after my old claim...
There’s more gold than you’ll ever dream of,
I’ve hit the mother lode...
It’s all yours for the taking,
Then a map was what he showed...
After which his eyes were fixed,
And then went all cold...
This bloke had met his death,
In the search for all that gold...
Now what become of the claim...
What of those nuggets that he said...
Well I searched that shaft he had,
Until my hand and fingers bled...
There was nothing to be found,
Only hardship and despair...
Only a dream of riches,
Of being a millionaire…
It’s only fool’s gold that he found,
Lust and greed that fuelled his fire...
Soon all his dreams were dashed,
His passion and desire...
And at the local pub,
On the wall hangs old mate’s hat...
Also a lonely bar stool,
On which he always sat...
In the years the truth was stretched,
And the yarns they still are told...
About this old and crippled bloke,
And those massive hoards of gold...
Some might not believe the truth,
They say it cannot be...
There surely is some gold…
Enough for you and me...
Len Newey 2013