The idiot

  Hi-i often take_ these night shift walks_ when the foreman's not around_ I turn my back_ on the cooling stacks_ and make for open ground_ Far out beyond the tank-farm fence_ where the gas flare makes_ no sound_ I forget_ the stink_ and I always think_ back to that Eastern town_   I remember back six years ago_ this Western life I chose_ And every day_ the news would say_ some factory's gone to close_ Well I could have stayed_ to take the dole_ but I'm not one of those_ I take nothing free_ and that makes me_ an idiot_ I suppose_ So I bid farewell_ to the Eastern town_ I never more will see_ But work I must_ so I eat this dust_ and breathe refi_-ne_-ry_ Oh I miss the green_ and the woods and streams_ and I don't like cowboy clothes_ But I like being free_ and that makes me_ an idiot_ I suppose_   So come all you fine_ young 'fellers who've_ been beaten to the ground_ This western life's_ no paradise_ but it's better than lying down_ Oh the streets aren't clean_ and there's nothing green_ and the hills are dirty brown_ But the government dole_ will rot your soul_ back there in your home town_ So I bid farewell_ to the Eastern town_ I never more will_ see_ There's self-respect_ and a steady cheque_ in this refi_-ne_-ry_ You will miss the green_ and the woods and streams_ and the dust will fill your nose_ But you'll be free_ and just like me_ an idiot_ I suppose_