The Idiot - Seth Staton Watkins

Composed by：Stan Rogers

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 going 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 refinery

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 fellows

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 refinery

Oh you will miss the green

And the woods and streams

And the dust will fill your nose

But you'll be free and that makes me

An idiot I suppose

This are the word's I tell myself

When I miss my old home town

I tell myself that I'm doing right

By turning not well fell town

But now I see for you and me

That I want those word's on streams

For I oh my life to this worker's strip

Why can't I just be free