In a country that we call home. In a land that's skin and bone. There's a place that's hardly known.. . Mountains appearing with the sun. Rivers of light they westward run.
Yeah, whatcha gonna do now, now that you started?. Whatcha gonna do now, now that it's done?. The words got out there, they float around and are coming right back down..
One thing's for sure. That it's still the same. That young folk die. For some noble aim. And they live so fast. But they die so young. And we just keep wondering.
Scanning at the blue bended headlands. White flurry scudded, a dark silhouette flashes by, in the wet. It is glistening flesh. In the deep marine, in the deep marine.
There's a road train going nowhere. Roads are cut, lines are down. We'll be staying at the Roma Bar. Till that monsoon passes on. . The backbone of this country's broken.
Oh the news will travel slowly. Over broken glass. And I'll bet you've heard that story. Under the overpass. . got no time to weep for something. You'll never get back.
Like a heat wave breaking as you smell warm rain. We can fade away or start over again. In a high five season in a cut-price land. The southern cross don't shine on that invisible hand.
Haven't had so much fun since my daddy. Took the V8 away. Light a spark in the dark take a mark. It's resurrection day. It's a breeze timorese apec speak.
In the cities and the towns. The word is coming down. No more doubt, no more pain. There's been a dragging of the chain. Now there's a price we gotta pay.
Who will march for peace. Now that the last of the diggers has gone. All those who were released. From Sulva Bay and from the Somme. The Mallee is whipped by sand.
Wherever the wind blows. When it blows over the sea. The moon's sitting high. Waves will rise. Water shapes. Waves will take you, take you there. Surf's up tonight.
I, I was, I was shaken down in a toy town. He, He's out there. You know it's Kennedy's shadow from White Cross to Michigan. ATM's, are in the air, oh yeah machines they are spinning out everywhere.
Wherever the wind blows. When it blows over the sea. The moon's sitting high. Waves will rise. Water shapes. Waves will take you, take you there. Surf's up tonight.
Spirit of the Age. There is an SOS of real distress, baby tears at the best address. Ambulance chasers won't confess, sun comes up and you're stuck. .
Hope you're a God, your turn to pray. Hope you've a God, it's your turn to pray. Light on the hill so far away. The light on the hill is so far away. Boy, where are you now.
On the fringes of torso and lips. Straining to hear the voice of gospel choir. Pummelled plains and beaten fields. We're never broken in spirit within.
Won't you come on down the line, away from barren ground. The harlot and the autocrat, are they driving you further down. The season's rhymes, they anchor me, against the raging tide.
Don't want to live in a prison cell. Don't want to live in a smoking room. Independence just won't come to you. In the brief of a diplomat. . Say your prayers for the future.
Well I told you about the forest and trees and the chlorophyll green. Yes I told you the birds will endure flutter wings dance on leaves. Hold onto dreams, hold onto dreams tonight.
So you cut all the tall trees down, you poisoned the sky and the sea. You've taken what's good from the ground. But you've left precious little for me.