Out where the river broke. The blood wood and the desert oak. Holden wrecks and boiling diesels. Steam in fourty-five degrees. . The time has come, to say fair's fair.
I've seen faces in the window. I've seen faces in the street. They walk and talk of nothing. I've known many restless summers. The sand dunes I imagine.
The Southern Aurora was late again. As I waited at central to take you home. Winking spinning sparkling lights on our flat earth. You talk about the old groundling ways.
You say times are tough. We've got the best of both worlds here. Things are rough. We've got the best of both worlds here. Times are tough. We've got the best of both worlds.
Beds Are Burning. Midnight Oil. . Out where the river broke. The bloodwood and the desert oak. Holden wrecks and boiling diesels. Steam in forty five degrees.
Must be time for a second chance. I can't escape this basement flat. Writers cramp and claustrophobia. . Must be time for a better place. My sink leaks and the rats have won the race.