Ancient Australia, girt by sea
Along the tattered coasts wrecks abound
White sands battered endlessly
The cries of shipwrecks never found.

Now where three masted barks once stood tall
And the schooners once dropped anchor
Old Sydney town welcomes tourists all
And the wool cargo fleet gives way to oil tanker.

The pub is open in the lane
Open the door to the past
Hero of Waterloo its given name
Try the tucker; break your fast.

Portal of time takes you back
Smell of tobacco, tot of gin
Bawdy barmaids, for nothing they lack
Toothless pirates smile then grin.

Drinking to 'blackbirding' and whaling
They raise their pottery cups to eternity
Ghostly men that will never again go sailing
Fade into the walls with certainty.

The pub comes alive with sounds of laughter
Full of tourists seeking the past
No dead men from the hereafter
"I'll have a beer mate, and make it fast."