From coast to coast by night and day, hear the clicking of the wheels, the hovering of the diesel on her ribbons of steel.
Carrying the memories of a nation built by hand, see the Indian Pacific span the land.
Sheed the pride of all the railwaymen, cross country where she flies, from the blue Pacific waters to where the mountains rise.
By lakes and big brown rivers, through desert country dry, see the Indian Pacific passing by.
Oh, the Indian Pacific, she goes a-rolling down the track, five thousand miles to travel before she's there and back.
Beside the line, a drover waves his battered old grey hat, and kids are catching yabbies down by the river flat.
And a woman hangs her washing in the backyard near the line, as the Indian Pacific's a-making time.
Hear the whistle blowin' lowly neath the Nullarbor starlight, saluting those who walked across the track she rides tonight.
Calling to the railwaymen and the fenders on the line, I'm the Indian Pacific right on time.
From the silver of the broken hill to old Kalgoorlie go, she mirrors all the colours of a land so hard to know.
Then the western clouds are blooming and the air is just like wine, as the Indian Pacific's a-making time.
Oh, the Indian Pacific, she goes a-rolling down the track, five thousand miles to travel before she's there and back.
By the waters of the western sea to the eastern ocean sand, the Indian Pacific spans the land, oh yeah, the Indian Pacific spans the land.
There she goes right across Australia.