(Thomas)
Trams pass me out on St. Kilda Road
Drizzle wet and slow, like thinking
Oh oh, take me down into Young and Jacksons
We'll do a bit of serious drinking
Lean on bar, hands in the pockets
Drain those glasses down like rockets
Call this history? But what could we ever really know
Of you?
In your Roaring Days
In your Roaring Days
In your Roaring Days
What could we ever really know?
In your hard day the world was oh, so very wide
Poets were people still..
And though I'm young, I am so, oh so very tired
Couldn't count the tears I have cried
I think of London, I think of Mudgee
Think I'll stay and fight
So it's set them up
And we will dream tonight, Henry
Of your Roaring Days
Of your Roaring Days
Of your Roaring Days
What could we ever really know?
Of your Roaring Days
Of your Roaring Days
Of your Roaring Days
What could we ever really know?
In these Roaring Days
In these Roaring Days
In our Roaring Days
What could we ever really know?
What did you ever have to show?