What started as frustration and anger blazing strong,
Has morphed into solemnity and a sad but bitter song.
Once lorded for their beauty, white sands of southern shores,
Now bury heads, community, and expose our selfish mores.
Our faces bear the trademarks of the sunshine and the sea,
Glazed eyes that can’t see far enough, beyond the ‘I’, the ‘me’.
Apathy belied by open smiles, toothy, white as salt,
Do we dance, take a stance? Cross the floor? Is this our sombre waltz?
Aussie worries for his income tax and raises pitchforks high,
But for the bankers, miners and corporations the flag it always flies.
A poor man’s not worth the welfare pennies Aussie worked so hard to stash,
But he’ll let the rich lease land and minds and savour all his cash.
Some say they sing ye olde songs for the soldiers lost in war,
That died fighting for our freedoms, but what these are, they’re still not sure.
They live and die by rhetoric, they’ve been swallowed by the beast,
Let marionettes play all their tricks, and hand the kings the Golden Fleece.
Like Ubu Roi, been seen before, who sits on a throne of shit,
Dutton commands his loyal corps, but doesn’t own one ounce of wit.
Did we forgot to pay for common sense? S'that why the Piper's lured us far?
The children of the lucky years, shamed by Murdoch’s fluff and tar.
You know the clergy, noblemen and commoners insure their real estate?
But they forgot to sign a treaty and protect the fourth estate!
Sovereignties were never ceded, but to dissent we wouldn’t dare,
Cos freedom of the press is bygone, it’s neither here nor there.
White skin and born into the free world, with gold dust at our feet,
But for all the burning, shining sun, its glistening we can’t see.
Black skin and born in two worlds, and never really free,
Voices that are seldom heard, access bound by poverty.
But Whitey is the new one here, his boat is not long landed!
Can you tell me why then culture, lore and respect have not been granted
To those who stood the test of time for more than sixty thousand years?
Seems in Manus Island and Naru, the mirror shows our deepest fears.
Yeah, we’ve really come a long way, baby, that’s for bloody sure.
The polar caps are melting and we’re clearing more and more.
ScoMo is a drooling mess, who’s gagging for his coal,
Can’t see the forest or the trees, he’s sold them with our nation’s soul.
So, what happened to the lucky country, the land of the fair go?
A working family’s paradise, to build a house and save some dough?
The gap gets ever wider between the wealthy and the poor,
And the one thing really puzzles me? It was us who opened up the door.
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