Текст песни West of Winton - Slim Dusty
                                                His 
                                                eyes 
                                                were 
                                                used 
                                                to 
                                                distance 
                                                and 
                                                he 
                                                talked 
                                                much 
                                                with 
                                                his 
                                                hands
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                guess 
                                                he 
                                                sort 
                                                of 
                                                felt 
                                                hemmed 
                                                in 
                                                    a 
                                                stranger 
                                                to 
                                                this 
                                                land
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    a 
                                                lifestyle 
                                                of 
                                                another 
                                                time, 
                                                another 
                                                time 
                                                and 
                                                place
 
                                    
                                
                                                Was 
                                                written 
                                                there 
                                                deep 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                lines 
                                                of 
                                                this 
                                                old 
                                                bushman's 
                                                face.
 
                                    
                                
                                                His 
                                                attire 
                                                was 
                                                still 
                                                in 
                                                keeping 
                                                with 
                                                the 
                                                far 
                                                out 
                                                channel 
                                                lands
 
                                    
                                
                                                There 
                                                was 
                                                still 
                                                    a 
                                                strength 
                                                of 
                                                character 
                                                in 
                                                his 
                                                hard 
                                                old 
                                                bushman's 
                                                hands
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                his 
                                                old 
                                                hat 
                                                tilted 
                                                forward 
                                                was 
                                                as 
                                                much 
                                                    a 
                                                part 
                                                of 
                                                him
 
                                    
                                
                                                As 
                                                the 
                                                80 
                                                years 
                                                of 
                                                livin' 
                                                that 
                                                showed, 
                                                underneath 
                                                the 
                                                brim.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Just 
                                                somewhere 
                                                west 
                                                of 
                                                Winton 
                                                mate 
                                                is 
                                                where 
                                                I'd 
                                                rather 
                                                be
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                ride 
                                                out 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                dawn 
                                                time, 
                                                Mitchell 
                                                to 
                                                my 
                                                horses 
                                                knee
 
                                    
                                
                                                Unroll 
                                                my 
                                                swag 
                                                beside 
                                                    a 
                                                fire 
                                                of 
                                                some 
                                                long 
                                                forgotten 
                                                camp
 
                                    
                                
                                                If 
                                                    I 
                                                listen 
                                                close 
                                                maybe 
                                                I'll 
                                                hear 
                                                    a 
                                                tethered 
                                                night 
                                                horse 
                                                stamp.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Just 
                                                to 
                                                see 
                                                again 
                                                the 
                                                sunsets 
                                                as 
                                                the 
                                                night 
                                                falls 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                land
 
                                    
                                
                                                Oh 
                                                the 
                                                silent 
                                                sound 
                                                of 
                                                beauty 
                                                makes 
                                                the 
                                                proudest 
                                                heart 
                                                expand
 
                                    
                                
                                                Where 
                                                the 
                                                lights 
                                                of 
                                                some 
                                                old 
                                                homestead 
                                                beam 
                                                    a 
                                                warm 
                                                and 
                                                welcome 
                                                glow
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                no 
                                                travellin' 
                                                soul 
                                                went 
                                                hungry 
                                                in 
                                                those 
                                                days 
                                                of 
                                                long 
                                                ago.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                see 
                                                    a 
                                                dried 
                                                up 
                                                sandy 
                                                creekbed 
                                                when 
                                                the 
                                                dry 
                                                comes 
                                                much 
                                                too 
                                                soon
 
                                    
                                
                                                Watch 
                                                the 
                                                wild 
                                                mob 
                                                paw 
                                                for 
                                                water 
                                                'neath 
                                                an 
                                                early 
                                                rising 
                                                moon
 
                                    
                                
                                                Maybe 
                                                I'll 
                                                see 
                                                the 
                                                dust 
                                                cloud 
                                                rising 
                                                from 
                                                the 
                                                travellin' 
                                                mob 
                                                again
 
                                    
                                
                                                Hear 
                                                the 
                                                whips 
                                                crack 
                                                on 
                                                the 
                                                tailers 
                                                as 
                                                they 
                                                cross 
                                                the 
                                                open 
                                                plain.
 
                                    
                                
                                                Just 
                                                somewhere 
                                                west 
                                                of 
                                                Winton 
                                                mate 
                                                is 
                                                where 
                                                I'd 
                                                rather 
                                                be
 
                                    
                                
                                                To 
                                                ride 
                                                out 
                                                in 
                                                the 
                                                dawn 
                                                time, 
                                                Mitchell 
                                                to 
                                                my 
                                                horses 
                                                knee
 
                                    
                                
                                                Unroll 
                                                my 
                                                swag 
                                                beside 
                                                    a 
                                                fire 
                                                of 
                                                some 
                                                long 
                                                forgotten 
                                                camp
 
                                    
                                
                                                If 
                                                    I 
                                                listen 
                                                close 
                                                maybe 
                                                I'll 
                                                hear 
                                                    a 
                                                tethered 
                                                night 
                                                horse 
                                                stamp.
 
                                    
                                Внимание! Не стесняйтесь оставлять отзывы.
                 
             
                                                         
                                                         
                                                         
                                                        