Old Mate’s out at Clyde
Treed upside down in the daylight
Hanging over the shadowy valley
Fanning his stones in the smoky summertime

His pieces fall into the dark when they’re ripe
River trollies roll them to Auburn and onward
They swell unseen in the stock of unsealed Sydney
A secret guarded by the sleeping water

That’s them and a window and you
Your breath fogs the glass and the train moves
People cough because they ate forbidden fruit
They’ll cough in the office soon
So will you.