Well the old man died in the summer when the grass was dry and brown
The long hard road he'd travelled had finally reached the end
He was out on the veranda writing letters to his daughters
When he heard the curlew calling and he just put down his pen
Well he did two years in Changi in the big Pacific War
He'd been to hell and back again somehow came though it all
His most prized possession was the banjo that he made
As he built it all around him he watched his comrades fall
He'd play the Changi bango made of tin
The bridge piece was the Rising Sun from off his slouch hat brim
Had a broomstick neck and nails to pick his strings
To the memory of is fallen mates the Changi banjo rings
When he came ashore in Sydney like a ghost of skin and bones
No one recognised the man behind the haunted face
No one knows the sorrows only he could tell
Of how he's taking one last journey to rest with his old mates
He'll play his Changi banjo made of tin
The bridge piece was the Rising Sun from off his slouch hat brim
Had a broomstick neck and nails to pick his strings
To the memory of is fallen mates the Changi banjo rings
He'll play his Changi banjo made of tin
The bridge piece was the Rising Sun from off his slouch hat brim
Had a broomstick neck and nails to pick his strings
To the memory of is fallen mates the Changi banjo rings
To the memory of is fallen mates the Changi banjo rings
