I sit at night beneath the stars, where gentle breezes 

blow,

Or stroll around that part of town, where magic 

lanterns glow,

An old beer garden comes to life, the crowd begins to 

sway,

I'm waitin' for a friend of mine, who had to go away.

And somewhere there's dancing, under an indian moon,

Pickin' up old pearling shells on another night in 

Broome.



I turn my back on station life and headed for the sea,

Where fishing boats and travellers made ancient 

mystery,

And island traders wander by, there's java in the air,

And music drifting through the trees, could be miles 

from anywhere,

But if somewhere there's dancing, under an indian moon,

Pickin' up old pearling shells on another night in 

Broome.



I watched the silver water fade and catch the setting 

sun,

Out where the dreaming spirits whispers songs for 

everyone,

Then an old red ute goes rolling by, headin' for the 

plain,

Going to meet a friend of mine, who's coming home 

again;

But if somewhere there's dancing, under an indian moon,

Pickin' up old pearling shells on another night in 

Broome.



But if somewhere there's dancing, under an indian moon,

Pickin' up old pearling shells on another night in 

Broome.