She's living on the margin
Educated by the seasons, tempered by the dust
The farm split, by Goyder's bloody line
A line to determine your fortune, your fate
Not something in a good season you see
But in a drought year, it's heart breaking it's there
Everything withers, only tough will survive
We have money to lend, the banker will say
Invest in more machinery, more diesel, and spray
We have faith in the farmer, his will and resolve
But if it don't rain
Our umbrella of faith, we'll rip soon away.
She's living on the margins
And because of a line that exists
Once seen in an old surveyor's mind
Her tender young hands now grip like steel
Working two jobs on which they rely
Cause straddling the Goyder
The bank needs to see a steady income
For a farm to get by
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