See him sittin' there in an old squatter's chairSmoke from his pipe hangin' still in the airThere he saw the bushman with time on his handHard years have robbed him of purpose and planLeft him here lonely just livin' out his fanBowler he drove, white whiskers on his chinAnd he's waitin' for the maker to let him join his kinHe's just a lonely old man with time on his handOverlookin' the changes, overtakin' his landHe's back to the wall and his head in his handHe's just a lonely old man with time on his handWell the bush folks say he was the best in his timeBut it's a lonely glory been the last of a lineA face like lead, tanned and burned through the yearsEyes fixed on knowing the small beauty to borrowPortrait of yesterday, lost in tomorrowBowler he drove, white whiskers on his chinAnd he's waitin' for the maker to let him join his kinHe's just a lonely old man with time on his handOverlookin' the changes, overtakin' his landHe's back to the wall and his head in his handHe's just a lonely old man with time on his hand. . .And he's waitin' for the maker to let him join his kinHe's waitin' for the maker to finally call him inHe's just a lonely old man with time on his handOverlookin' the changes, overtakin' his landHe's back to the wall and his head in his handHe's just a lonely old man with time on his handHe's just a lonely old man with time on his handOverlookin' the changes, overtakin' his landHe's back to the wall and his head in his handHe's just a lonely old man with time on his hand