The pollys are squawking the galahs are the same,
average bloke on the street puts them all to shame.
Its all well in hand been told by that mob,
not one of them knows how to do a good job.
To see for ourselves we do take to the road,
what will we see, is it something to goad?
Up the incline and over the ridge,
motoring on to Evan's Bridge.
We haven't come far and look at the mess,
no wonder the cobbers are in distress.
As we journey on the livestock are dying,
one can only think the farmers are crying.
The streets of the towns are quiet to extreme,
I can't help but think it's all a bad dream.
I look to my love and say what can we do?
Write it all down and capture the view.
Put on the web with details to boot,
Let everyone know this weather's a brute.
We see the result of the message to hand,
respite for that extraordinary man on the land.
Lets head for home, that place we love dear,
After all this I could do with a beer.
Lets put the old van away for awhile,
this land of ours is just too hostile.
Pablo – July 2018
Written by Paul V Jennings