Sunburnt Jukebox

By | 1 February 2018

‘We can write what we want to write.’
John Farnham, ‘You’re the Voice’

I want to tell you a story
I come from a saltwater people
Waiting on the weekend, set of brand new tires
Is running in your veins
I’m tired of the city lights
Let’s go down to the sand
You don’t need a friend when you can score
Out here nothing changes, not in a hurry anyway

Call this history? But what could we ever really know?
So you look into the land, it will tell you a story
I would not tell lies to you
I love her far horizons
A rain of falling cinders
Yeah, we razed four corners of the globe
Now she’s gone, gone, gone like the wind
No way, get fucked, fuck off

I come from a land down under
I’ll be coming home to see you tonight
I woke late in the middle of the day
The hot gold hush of noon
Crying in the wilderness
The hot sun is a killer
So long, long between mirages
I didn’t know how or why

There was nothing that I owned
If half of what I’m saying, of what I’m saying is true
In convoys of silence the cattle graze
We see the cattle die
The Western desert lives and breathes
And rumour said there’s a boom ahead
More than working for the rich man
Mistaking tacky sex for sensuality

I feel like a good time that’s never been had
Each passing day our culture slowly dies
Come and see the real thing
She pays us back threefold.
And that ain’t bad
Watching as the ships came one by one
Life is a bitter disappointment
Let’s swing for the crime

Now listen, we’re steppin’ out
Like a child at big store windows you feel confused
Help is on its way
You will not understand
There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain
Close the doors to the past forever
So throw down your guns
Dream on white boy (white boy)

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