the way we were
and the way we were then
as if now
I could write it with a pen
a redreaming
and a whirlwind
a redeeming
of our offspring
those were the days
the halcyon days
of rhyme
wherefore we found reason
those were the days; the halcyon days
when Gough Witlam was accused of treason
a gentle giant
crucified out of season
amongst the tombs we meander
looking at goose and gander
the man they villified as villain
was no stool pidgeon
but a muckrake
of all that is awful in our society
was heaped on him
all for their own impropriety
bewildered
there is no resurrection
calm, bestilled
there is only genuflection
for we must bear our pains
and humbly grow in gains
we must not forsake the shore
that gave us birth and a whore
to whom do we decrie now
and who is it we try now
is it the Labor Party grown old
or mellowed to the fold?
and liberals save their bile
whilst they trot another mile
in silken dress
and sached underwear
and a sachbut
is not glory
nor the tones
of melancholy
reaching out
into the infinite night
one finds respite
and a quest
the shade
is drawn
Kings Cross
is full of porn
and Albert Einstein
died
to learn
that brilliance isn't earned
we have no paternal care
in ourselves we wear
what great men of the past
called their heritage
and alexander was laid low
and little maidens
of the snow
but Jesus stills us to know
be wary of Frazer
still
and laser Bill
be content
in that past
which gives us
what we are today
no matter what they say
a meteors life is short
so wish upon a falling star
and know it may be your last
yet know not
the pleasure of your past
until you sup the last
to life eternally you are fast
this is the glory
in the morning
to shed the past
to know the story
for the dimension
of the spirit
knows no contradiction
and revels in it
for Gough
