Stories

Harvest in November
Rose coloured December
It's warmer when I remember
Driving Riverina
We're strict on table manners
Meal times really matter
For years, we've told each other
The land goes to your brother

What are we other than the stories we tell ourselves
They're passed down, generations
Quietly shaping everyone else
I never once asked you if you thought that you could cope
Because love lies in the possibility of hope

We reward those who work hard
Try our best from the start
Nothing good comes easy
But do you believe that in your heart

What are we other than the stories we tell ourselves
They're passed down, generations
Quietly shaping everyone else
I never once asked you if you thought that you could cope
Because love lies in the possibility of hope