Текст: John Williamson. Other. Galleries Of Pink Galahs.

Galleries of pink galahs,
Crystal nights with diamond stars,
Apricots preserved in jars,
That's my home.
Land of oceans in the sun,
Purple hazes, river gum,
Breaks your heart when rain won't come,
It breaks your heart.

It takes a harsh and cruel drought
To sort the weaker saplings out,
It makes room for stronger trees
Maybe that's what life's about.

Winter's come, the hills are brown,
Shops are closed, the blinds are down.
Everybody's leaving town,
They can't go on.

The south wind through verandah gauze
Whines and bangs the homestead doors.
A mother curses dusty floors,
And feels alone.

Trucks and bulk bins filled with rust,
Boy leaves home to make a crust.
A father's dreams reduced to dust,
But he must go on.

Tortured red gums - unashamed,
Sunburnt country wisely named.
Chisel-ploughed and wire-claimed,
But never, never, never tamed.

Whirlwind swirls a paper high,
Same old news of further dry.
Of broken clouds just passing by,
That's my home