I think I hear the sounds of then,
And people talking,
Scenes recalled, by minute movement,
And songs they fall, from the backing tape,
That certain texture,that certain smell,
To lie in sweat, on familiar sheets,
In brick veneer on financed beds.
In a room, of silent hardiflex
That certain texture, that certain smell,
Brings home the heavy day,
Brings home the the night time swell,
Out on the patio we sit,
And the humidity we breathe,
We watch the lightning crack over canefields
Laugh and think, this is Australia.
The block is awkward, it faces west,
Long diagonals, and sloping too.
And in the distance, through the heat haze,
In convoys of silence the cattle graze.
That certain texture, that certain beat,
Brings forth the night time heat.
Out on the patio we sit,
And the humidity we breathe,
We watch the lightning crack over canefields
Laugh and think that this is Australia.
To lie in sweat, on familiar sheets,
In brick veneer on financed beds.
In a room of silent hardiflex
That certain texture, that certain smell,
Brings forth the heavy days,
Brings forth the night time sweat
Out on the patio we sit,
And the humidity we breathe,
We watch the lightning crack over canefields
Laugh and think, this is Australia.
This is Australia