Saturday, March 8, 2008
On The Banks Of The Yarra
On it's way to Melbourne through many a bush town
The banks of the Yarra look sunbaked and brown
On through dry and bare paddocks on towards the sea shore
Where it has flowed forever and will flow forever more.
On the banks of the Yarra I met an old bloke
In the shade of a gum tree he enjoyed a smoke
He puffed on his fag as he looked at the sky
Saying the day is so warm and the ground is so dry.
He looked across the paddock so dry and so bare
Saying there is not enough fodder for a fire to live there
And then he pointed towards Melbourne saying look at the gray
The smog clouds are full of pollution today.
He had lived near the Yarra since he was a boy
This nuggety old fellow siver haired and shy
His brown wrinkled face seemed the worst for sun wear
Yet he did seem like one who did not have a care.
On the banks of the Yarra he bade me goodbye
Saying I'm off to the pub mate my throat's feeling dry
And the bright Summer's sun aggravated my eyes
And the air it was full of the buzzing of flies.