There's a corrugated highway Leading north from Port Augusta lined with ratted cars that didn't rate a tow The Salt plains out of Pimba And your eyes begin to stream On to Kingoonya huddled dusty by the road Romantic notions shattered Like the tyres that didn't hack it This has got to be the country's last frontier Where a sports car's next to useless Running cattle grids and river beds We drove a van from 1963 Someone mentioned walkabout And kiss your job goodbye Just to see the country shimmer through the windscreen Drinking beer, telling stories While laughter filled the night And flexi-time's behind you like a bad dream You got a flat on Anzac Highway And Lawson on your shelf Its a Southern Comfort, air-conditioned rage Where a homestead's more than just a cheap print Dangling from a wall And mateship's more than lines upon a page We went looking for Australia In between the TV lines 'Cause the ABC just couldn't make it real Colour documentary From a beanbag on the floor: Never shows as much as it conceals A stark and blistered Alice Springs And a river runs with shame And you wipe the sheets of bulldust from your eyes Another country's uniform And the mirage it falls apart To the open gap between the truth and lies Go and see your country, mate The travel agents scream Politicians sell it's heart just for a past-time Signs and high-wire fences Hold the land where I belong It's as if I'm in the outback for the last time Bu döküman AkorMerkezi.com'da yayınlanmıştır. http://www.akormerkezi.com