Текст: Peter Von Poehl. May Day. Wombara.

The winter show was right on time,
Windy days on a cliff.
They were waiting by the shore,
Frozen figures in the dark.
I?m a thousand miles away
From that old Midsummer Day;
I?m diving in the cold night,
There?s no warming light in Wombara.
I heard one song for two birds,
When spring came around.
The gravediggers laughed at dawn,
Playing chess with the buds.
I?m a thousand miles away
From all the things I had to say.
The sandman rings a bell,
But the ocean never sleeps in Wombara.
Thunder always lasts too long,
For the ones you cant fin.
In the summer I recalled
A lantern crown near a child.
I?m a thousand miles away,
A bit up north of Jarvis Bay.
The storm won?t blow away,
The Sunday blues, they sing in
Wombara.
A hole in the wall was the final stop.
An old photograph
Gone in the lost and found.
I have never been too scared
Of leaves on the ground.
Take me a few steps to the left
And I could rest a while.
I?m a thousand miles away
From all the things I had to say.
Flowers grow next to the whitest stone,
Right here in Wombara.

(Merci a Leon DUONER pour cettes paroles)