The sandalwood trees stand stark and bare
Where the big Mac's tyres turn and tear
The powder puff clouds drift on a breeze
They giggle and whisper to the thirsty trees
White lines on the bitumen they hypnotise
They manipulate the truck driver's weary eyes
But still he drives on and on
The engine it hums a lullaby song
Telegraph poles; sleeping, joined by thread
The cattle they graze and nod their heads
The gibbers they rest on the side of the road
As the wind dives endlessly under the trucks heavy load
The gum trees, they stretch where the weather is warm
They blend together like a bee in a swarm
Out where the landscape is foreboding but sweet
The truckdriver battles the sickness of sleep