[Intro] (dry wind, cicadas, solo fingerpicked acoustic guitar, very quiet) [Verse 1] (tender, close, no drums) Born in the dry year, red dust on the windowsill Dad sold the last of the ewes off the paddock on the hill She's three years old and she's never once heard The sound of rain on the roof, she thinks it's just a word [Pre-Chorus] So I tuck her in at night and tell her what it's like Like a thousand tiny drummers coming home in the dark [Chorus] (soft felt piano enters) It's coming, it's coming Leave the window open wide It's coming, it's coming Somewhere on the other side Of the range, of the year, of the dry One day you'll hear it on the tin [Verse 2] (single cello enters) Footy oval's gone to dirt, but we still train on Thursday nights Twenty blokes kicking dust beneath the yellow lights Mrs. Kelly saves her washing-up to water roses by the gate Says somebody in this town has gotta practise how to wait [Pre-Chorus] And I tuck her in at night and tell her what it's like Like a thousand tiny drummers coming home in the dark [Chorus] (quiet strings swell underneath) It's coming, it's coming Leave the window open wide It's coming, it's coming Somewhere on the other side Of the range, of the year, of the dry One day you'll hear it on the tin [Verse 3] (building, sub-bass enters low, tension rising) Then a Tuesday in October and the sky goes purple-grey Every dog in town is barking, kids get called in from their play She tugs my sleeve and wrinkles up her nose, "Dad, what's that smell?" And I can't say a word, I just pick her up, 'cause I know it way too well [Bridge] (stripped back, voice and piano, breathless) First drop on the windscreen, second in the dust Then the whole street wanders outside, and nobody says much Old men with their hats off, standing in the road Mrs. Kelly by her roses, crying, letting go [Silence] (one full beat of silence) [Final Chorus] (sudden explosive rolling drums like rain on a tin roof, full orchestra, choir, voice soaring with joy) It's here, it's here Hear it hammering on the tin It's here, it's here Let the whole wide sky come in Over the range, over the year, over the dry Baby, that's the rain on the tin A thousand tiny drummers coming home [Outro] (gentle acoustic guitar, steady rain, voice soft and smiling) She's dancing in the gutter in her pyjamas and her boots Looks up at me and asks, "Is this it, Dad?" Yeah, love This is it (rain fades)
