And now I can't sleep, and now I can't.
When will I end the unfinished songs in my head,
That keep me from keeping on.
And the blank pages of this book hear sories that they'll never tell.
It's not so bad on long-tread ground soaking up the scent of forgotten flowers.
I fill my pockets up with sand and hit the road, home again.
Hitch a ride back to Melbourne town and I overtake a storm,
Quarter past three and there's no one to warn.
The day is bright and I can see the path ahead,
But its hard to take a step with boots full of lead.
I try and finish the story, but I've lost the bookmark,
So I start again, just for something to do.
And motivation comes when I'm trying to get to sleep.
Just let me be.
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