When the wind’s from the north, lovenI can hear the railway linenThat low, lonesome whistlenComes floating through the nightnAnd I dream of departurenOf a suitcase by the doornAnd I wake in the morningnAs weary as before I fell asleepnnWhen the wind’s from the west, lovenI can smell the distant seanAnd ten thousand teardropsnCome flooding back to menI’d almost forgottennHow we spoke of setting sailnThat evening gin-soddennThe moon a fingernail scratched in the skynnFor we’d seen the sorrow summer bringsnWhere the chiming wedgebill singsn“Oh why did you get drunk?nWhy did you get drunk?”nnBut when the wind’s from the south, lovenYou’re only half an hour from herenI hardly need pedalnAnd that hill just disappearsnThe silos stands silentnDown that endless railway linenThe district’s desertednThe sunset might be minenAnd yours, of coursennBut I’ve seen the sorrow summer bringsnWhere the chiming wedgebill singsn“Oh why did you get drunk?nWhy did you get drunk?nWhy did you get drunk?nOh why did you get drunk?”