The day was warm so the boys on the job had a thirst.

Out in the sun filling holes in the road while they cursed.

They could taste the beer through the heat of the air and the smell of the tar.

At knock off time they all formed a line

at their usual place by the bar.

Vince lifts his beer, feels a tingle of guilt and tells himself

that next week he'll slow down.

For he wont see his wife sober tonight

and its just another day here in this town.

It was more than a job when they closed the meat works down

When Frank lost his home his wife and his kids left town

Now he sits at the bar with a drink in his hand and he's old and alone.

Feeds what he has to poker machines and dreams of what he once used to own.

Waits for the boys as they come in the door and calls out to

Vince he'll join them in the round.

And for a while Frank has a smile

and its just another day here in this town.

Frank spoke of his days in the Vietnam war - the same stories he tells every night.

Vince lifts his beer, says "bad one Frank - must've been a hell of a fight!"

And it seems there's always a silence then, long enough to cut through the air,

'til Vince lifts his glass, says "what they done t' ya mate - ya know it doesn't seem fair.

The car was still running the morning when Frankie was found

Vince carried the body, there was silence and mist on the ground.

Then he lay him down by the side of the road and whispered a word

When he prayed Frank he prayed for himself

and wondered would it ever be heard.

Then he threw his fist in to the air and screamed out

"F_ _ _ you all" as he fell down.

As he yelled those words an echo was heard

its just another day here in this town.

Words and music by C.Dawson

All rights reserved. ARANDA. May 2000