| John Laws (Dream Keeper) |
| What's it take to walk alone when your
gut contracts and feels like stone, And everywhere you look you see a line of rock in an angry sea, And vampires chop in your swollen gutter and your blood runs cold and your legs to butter, And a line of "friends" that you had before are lying low 'til they know the score. Your market's crashed and your backers wait for the gash is deep in your old school slate. Your soul is crushed by the damage done to the beating hearts of the hearts your've won. |
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| The press rejigs for the major prize. As
their bit goes deep, a legend dies. Jackals joust for the final copy, bannered in the blood of a too tall poppy. Rolling across the bush and town, the tide's gone out as the sun goes down. |
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| Now bathed in the glow of the morning
light, the line's regrouped. It's time to fight. Now knockers hope their copy's hard, for vengeance rides in the mind they've scarred. The golden tonsils, crowned and christened ... when this legend talks, Australia listens. Hate him, bait him, underrate him, the others rail but they can't outrate him, For deep down dinkum, this land adores ... |
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| This self made millionaire ... Mongrel ... Laws. |
| © Robert Raftery, PictureWriter |
