In my wood-panelled office,
cushion leather seats.
Ride, there’s no tomorrow
On electronic diesel steeds
‘Gainst headwinds, hills and grades,
Distance off ahead,
The sand gauge trickles slowly,
sunsets last rays,
blur lights ahead.
Far from restaurants,
different mob out in the night.
Dancing on a moonbeam,
chasing stars and dreams,
pausing engine idling,
drifting with the tide.
Rolling on a milky way,
chasing stars twinkling display.
Trickling sand marking time,
as daylight grabs the grand parade
of picaninny orange dawn,
scrub trees poised on stark parade,
silhouette against a brand new day.
Tips the gauge on hills and winds.
Trickling sands on diesel steeds,
steady progress through the day.