[Intro: Subtle Vinyl Surface Noise, Muted Felt Piano, Intimate Dry Vocal] [Vocal Style: Whispered, close-mic Australian male voice, raw and unpolished] (Breathe in...) It was hot that Sunday in December. Took the drive down to Portsea, left the car by the gate. Folded his shirt on the dunes... And walked straight into the tide. [Beat Drop: 66 BPM Heavy Dusty Breakbeat, Deep Moog Sub-Bass Groove, Warm Cello] [Verse 1: Close-Mic Vocal Mix, Intricate Nylon-String Arpeggios, Lazy Drum Swing] He took off his shoes and he left 'em right there on the sand, Turned his back on the cameras, the papers, the whole bloody land. Cheviot Beach was wild that day, heavy waves churnin' the foam, Like the water was reachin' right out just to carry him home. He didn't look back at the ministers waitin' in line, Just slipped through the breakers and out past the warning and sign. A man in his fifties, just swimmin' away from the noise, Leavin' the country behind with the rest of the boys. [Pre-Chorus: Tape Saturation Swell, Flamenco Tremolo Builds Tension] They sent out the divers, they searched through the kelp and the rocks, While Canberra went quiet and nobody opened the box. You can look all the way from the beach right out to the heads— The ocean had made up its mind and she called him instead. [Chorus: Wide Stereo Master, Heavy Sub-Bass Tide, Swelling Strings & Flamenco Strums] AND THE WHOLE COUNTRY STOOD LIKE A WIDOW IN FRONT OF THE SEA! LOOKIN' OUT PAST THE RIP WHERE THE LEADER WAS SUPPOSED TO BE! NO GRAVE IN THE DIRT, NO CASKET TO LOWER DOWN SLOW! JUST SALT ON THE LIMESTONE AND NOWHERE FOR HAROLD TO GO! She waited all summer with nothing to say— Watchin' the Southern Ocean take him a-way. [Verse 2: Minimalist Trip-Hop Mix, Upright Bass & Dusty Rhodes Piano] Back at the lodge there was coffee left cold on the sill, And an empty black chair in the parliament up on the hill. His wife on the news with her sunglasses hidin' the pain, Knowin' the tide doesn't ev-ah bring people a-gain. Just seagulls and foam on the rocks where he stepped off the shore, And a country that suddenly wasn't so sure anymore. [Pre-Chorus: Low-Pass Filter Opens, Swelling Cello with Emotional Resonance] They sent out the divers, they searched through the kelp and the rocks, While Canberra went quiet and nobody opened the box. You can look all the way from the beach right out to the heads— The ocean had made up its mind and she called him instead. [Chorus: Wide Stereo Master, Heavy Sub-Bass Tide, Swelling Strings & Flamenco Strums] AND THE WHOLE COUNTRY STOOD LIKE A WIDOW IN FRONT OF THE SEA! LOOKIN' OUT PAST THE RIP WHERE THE LEADER WAS SUPPOSED TO BE! NO GRAVE IN THE DIRT, NO CASKET TO LOWER DOWN SLOW! JUST SALT ON THE LIMESTONE AND NOWHERE FOR HAROLD TO GO! She waited all summer with nothing to say— Watchin' the Southern Ocean take him a-way. [Bridge: Dynamic Sub-Bass Peak, Swelling Strings Crescendo] [Vocal Style: Passionate, raw chest voice pushing into soaring head voice] Was it just an undertow pullin' you out by the feet? Or were you just tired of the headlines, the noise, and the street? You gave this whole country your life and your name... And the water just swallowed you whole all the same! JUST GONE IN THE CURRENT! LOST IN THE BLUE! [Solo: Weeping Flamenco Nylon-String Guitar over Heavy Dusty 66 BPM Breakbeat] [Chorus: Maximum Dynamic Headroom, Full Orchestral Swell, Shouted Harmonies] AND THE WHOLE COUNTRY STOOD LIKE A WIDOW IN FRONT OF THE SEA! LOOKIN' OUT PAST THE RIP WHERE THE LEADER WAS SUPPOSED TO BE! NO GRAVE IN THE DIRT, NO CASKET TO LOWER DOWN SLOW! JUST SALT ON THE LIMESTONE AND NOWHERE FOR HAROLD TO GO! She waited all summer with nothing to say— Watchin' the Southern Ocean take him a-way. [Outro: Beats cut out, solo flamenco nylon guitar decays with vinyl surface crackle] [Soft, breathy spoken whisper] The sandshoes are still on the rock. The car’s still parked on the hill. ...And the beach is completely still. [Fading tape hiss into distant ocean waves] [End]
