| Galleries of pink galahs
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| Crystal nights with diamond stars
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| Apricots preserved in jars
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| That’s my home
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| Land of oceans in the sun
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| Purple hazes, river gums
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| Breaks your heart when rain won’t come
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| It breaks your heart
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| It takes a harsh and cruel drought
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| To sort the weaker saplings out
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| It makes room for stronger trees
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| Maybe that’s what life’s about
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| Winter’s come, the hills are brown
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| Shops are closed, the blinds are down
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| Everybody’s leavin' town
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| They can’t go on
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| The south wind through verandah gauze
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| Winds and bangs the homestead doors
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| A mother curses dusty floors
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| And feels alone
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| Trucks and bulk bins filled with rust
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| Boy leaves home to make a crust
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| A father’s dreams reduced to dust
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| But he must go on
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| Tortured redgums unashamed
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| Sunburnt country wisely named
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| Chisel ploughed and wire claimed
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| But never, never, never tamed
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| Whirlwind swirls a paper high
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| Same old news of further dry
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| Of broken clouds just passing by
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| That’s my home
|
| Land of oceans in the sun
|
| Purple hazes, river gums
|
| Breaks your heart when rain won’t come
|
| It breaks your heart |