I am living dry and placid now, among encircling mountains.An old man still remembering the days that used to be.But I close my eyes and live again those days of sweat and laughterwhen we worked the trochus luggers in the western coral sea.Sailing in a black-hulled lugger with a lookout at the masthead,you may drift along the coral quays and anchor where you please.In the glassy lee-side waters of some rocky offshore island,though the outer reef be trembling under pounding white and sea.La-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayYou may anchor calm and safely in the shallows over coralswhere the waters glimmer peacock in a hundred shifting shades.You can hear the rippling wavelets tinkle gently on the beachesand the stays and braces strumming in the southeast trades.La-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayTo the north of Lizard Island and to the south of Iron Rangein my dreams I am returning to the place where I would be.To the laughing Taurus tradesmen singing softly in the twilightTo the trocha sluggers anchorage in Princess Charlotte Bay.La-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ayLa-dee-oh, la-dee-ay