He started jauntily off from Lyell
His good mood lasted quite a while
But the further on he rode
The odder the folks he met on the old ghost road
First were the prospectors looking for gold
As he rode past them the air turned cold
Then it felt as if he’d a heavy load
’Twas an effort to bike the old ghost road
Then several blokes walked past with their gear in sacks
Instead of nice neat new Macpacs
One by one in line they strode
To somewhere on the old ghost road
Next a family, thin as rakes
Without the strength for what it takes
Then countless numbers of settlers flowed
From south to north on the old ghost road
At Seddonville they said that when he arrived that night
His hair had turned completely white
As he dismounted, ghostly voices crowed:
“We hitched a ride in your saddlebags
Down the old ghost road.”