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A dragon with the head of a bulldog, |
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A mountain with a crop of white snow, |
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A blue sky over Glenorchy, |
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And I've got nowhere to go. |
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I didn't ask for your name little sister, |
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I didn't ask for you to come through the door. |
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I dreamed of a face, a curtain of lace, |
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An apple that had no core. |
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A tail with the girth of a fat man's thigh |
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Slid up around the corner and was burnt upon my eye, |
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A winter light confused my sight in Glenorchy tonight |
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When I thought that I had nothing to see. |
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So I asked the lady at 13, |
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Invalid at 32, |
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With a bottle of red, only fresh from bed, |
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By the letterbox. |
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She thinks she doesn't see |
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The things I think I see, |
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Blind by 11 and wearing her dead mother's socks. |
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Alright |
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I was hiding in the Swan Terrace garden, |
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I saw the to and fro-ing, come and going of the street, |
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There's not a lot of doing in Glenorchy of a Tuesday, |
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Shivering I accepted my defeat. |
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But as I rose up ginger I was arrested by a sight |
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That flickered in my periphery, |
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A reflection in a Hillman Hunter window, |
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I saw that the creature was me. |
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Now the heart of a monster is the heart of a child |
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Who never had to grow into a man - |
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If nobody could recognise the Bunyip of Glenorchy, |
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Then wherever there's a monster no-one can, |
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Then wherever there's a monster no-one can, |
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Then wherever there's a monster no-one can. |
