The Hook

Merri, your water flows into the quarry
Where bluestone once lay below,
But now the gutters are paved with your heart,
And the hole is filled with clay
And fallen homes.

Evening, when we ride into the valley,
Cool air and tannin sighs,
Allocasuarinas whisper the same song,
As the water follows home,
And so do I.

Down past the convent,
And under river,
And through the headland,
And out to sea;
Allocasuarinas whisper the same song:
I will always follow you.

As sure as wood will rot in the rain,
Some things will never be the same:
Like you and me,
And the rising sea.

Some things roll on,
Some things run out.
You can see the patterns from the old lookout:
Tracks in the grass,
Where we used to pass
Over and over

There is only so much time
Pulling like a fishing line,
Whether I'm right there on the reel,
It's the hook I always feel.

So I lay my bed
With sticks and leaves,
And curl up like an ancient millipede.
I've got to let this go.
Maybe something will grow,
Or take me over again.