The Swagmans Rest

He looked into the heat,
as a fly crawled on his nose.
I'd better have a camp,
or I'll end up tucker for the crows.

He pushed his old hat back,
as he headed for some trees.
Waved the fly away,
just in case it made him sneeze.

Can't afford to waste the moisture,
or energy it would take.
Or give this land a fright,
and start a great earthquake.

Out here she likes to sleep,
and who am I to say.
That she don't know what she's do'n,
in the middle of the day.

So I'll just sit here nice and quiet,
like the half dead birds up there.
And hope they don't mind,
that I've come to share their air.

Everything is quiet,
cept the silence, which is loud.
And the sweat drops falling to the earth,
raising up a cloud.

I'll be glad when she starts to wake up,
and I can move on once again.
When she cools down in the evenin,
and maybe she'll even rain.

Yes, a man must show respect,
while our lovely lady sleeps.
A few have broken her ancient laws,
and for them, nobody weeps.

So I'll wait until the evenin,
when she begins to stir.
When the first stars appear,
and my eyes are not a blur.

When this old land is alive,
with the cool breeze of the night.
I'd better not think too loud,
--- or I might give her a fright.

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