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by John Williamson |
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Where ancient mountains are whittled down |
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Millions of years to a little mound |
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Where giant feet are fossil found |
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I see spinifex surfing on a dune, |
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The rock is redder in the afternoon |
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Tourists clicking madly soon |
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Where spring will come with any rain |
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A chance to flower and seed again |
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Forever garden risin' plain |
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The dangers of the wild remain |
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And away up there where the wind is blown |
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Never before felt so alone |
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More aware of skin and bone |
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I watch the parade of human folk |
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Strips of rubber, cans of Coke |
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Making dust and blowing smoke |
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Where the awe-inspiring power of time |
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Leave some fearful, some sublime |
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White man finds his progress prime |
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Black man feels no urge to climb |
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Now I believe we all are one |
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Features and creatures in the sun |
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Breathing the air we all belong |
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I have a dream I can't explain |
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Wattle soldiers, making claim |
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And paradise returns again |
