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Galleries of pink galahs |
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Crystal nights with diamond stars |
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Apricots preserved in jars |
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That's my home |
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Land of oceans in the sun |
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Purple hazes, river gum |
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Breaks your heart when rain won't come |
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It breaks your heart |
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It takes a harsh and cruel drought |
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To sort the weaker saplings out |
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It makes room for stronger trees |
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Maybe that's what life's about |
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Winter's come, the hills are brown |
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Shops are closed, the blinds are down |
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Everybody's leaving town |
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They can't go on |
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The south wind through veranda gauze |
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Whines and bangs the homestead doors |
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A mother curses dusty floors |
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And feels alone |
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Trucks and bulk bins filled with rust |
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Boy leaves home to make a crust |
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A father's dreams reduced to dust |
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But he must go on |
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Tortured red gums, unashamed |
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Sunburnt country wisely named |
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Chisel ploughed and wire claimed |
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But never, never, never tamed |
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Whirlwind swirls a paper high |
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Same old news of further dry |
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Of broken clouds just passing by |
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That's my home |
