Queenie was born on the banksnOf the great Ord River, 1930, maybenHer mother was black, her daddy whitenPapa was a fine horse-breakernMama sang the songs of the old lawmakersnnShe used to hide young Queenie in the bushnAnd rub black charcoal all over her hair and her facenEvery time the police came aroundnLooking for any blond haired, brown skinned childrennTo round 'em up and take 'em on down townnnShine on, shine on, immortal one, ahanShine on, shine on, immortal one, ahannRover was born in the desert, he lived out there 'til his mother diednThen he moved around a lot from place to placenBedford Downs, Bow River, Lissadell, WyndhamnBuilding fences, working as a stock mannnThen he had a series of dreamsnHe started painting what he'd heard and he'd seennRainbow serpent, Krill Krill, Cyclone Tracy, the killing fieldsnEverything that lives and breathesnnRide on, ride on, immortal one, ahanRide on, ride on, immortal one, ahanYour story will always runnnWhen Rover and Queenie were youngnThey met out on New Texas Down stationnShe worked as a cook there for a long, long timenShe said, Hey, Cowboy later on she saidnNice boy, good worker, top rider, lucky one, that onennOne day a mean horse ripped the scalp from his headnShe stitched him up with a boiled needle and threadnGood as any doctor, they were friends ever afternShe said, I want to paint, he said, I'll teach yanThey died within months of each othernnRide on, ride on, immortal ones, ahanShine on, shine on, immortal onesnRide on, ride on, immortal ones, ahanShine on, shine on, immortal ones, ahannYour story will always run, always run, will always runnForever run, forever run, forever runnForever young, forever young