Stuck (Wishing For A River)

A few people, those that know what happened and are comfortable enough to talk about it with me, have asked if I sometimes wished I was there, you know, when it all happened. I never really answer, never give it much thought, just brush them off with a trademark subject change ya know? But now, well I'm not so sure, what, with everything happening, changing, the world moving on and me just wanting to run out to the scrub and build my little kero hut by the trans-line. Truth is I miss you, thats obvious though. But whether I wished I was there when, like, it all happened, I dunno. Maybe I'd be much worse off, but to share those last moments, maybe it's why I'm such a mess nowadays, never having the chance to finish it properly, you know, the 'never saying goodbye' kinda bullshit. I wonder if I was there, would the story have ended differently? Would it have even happened at all? But these are the questions that shouldn't be asked, at the end of the day, what happened happened and now life is different, not an exciting roller coaster ride, but not a steady routine existence. Maybe it's akin to being dead, stuck in limbo, as a friend put it, "living a groundhog day in the aussie outback".

I miss you, no doubt, but time is dragging on and I'm sitting in a motel room, all Pat Malone. But the memories we forged have been slipping away, no longer mini movies playing behind my closed eyelids, just this fucking hollowness with your name banging around inside it, like a ping pong ball going up a vacuum cleaner hose. The time to move on, well that was almost two years ago, but I'm as stuck emotionally as I am physically. Dedicated to a company I really know nothing about, dedicated, despite the fact I'm only a lowly shit kicker. To scared to rejoin the world, instead easing myself back into society through fucked up lonely outback towns full of STD's, petty junkies and dole bludgers. A mining town where even that even the mine has turned it's back on. So I drag my way through eight hour shifts at a glorified petrol station, sit in motel room, think of you, think of others, write, smoke, and wish there was a river I could sit next to, contemplate the future next to, but Western Australia's a fucking desolate place, just ask any old scrubber mate.