Performance

Lookie me, lookie me, I’m Terror Maralinga

Down under

It’s your attention I’m desperate for, therefore

Desire

A dry corner of me bum’s been turned to fire

Just a parliamentary kidding

Coz I’m comely, and lonely and importantly big

I once got going a Big Thong athletics gig

Man, for two weeks I was the centre of your

World, World

Feeling like I was possessed, all giddy like.

 

But nothing’s been happening since; not a

Happening thing

There’s been a story about a bloke in a Laberal suit

Caught bonding at a giggle show

Down in New York, down under like me

Now he’s the boss after some great election

Lookie world’s attention he’s got a permanently huge

Complexion

Of green and gold

He‘s humming like a kookaburra

But I digress, flighty like the windblown dust

On my treeless plains

Like the godless spirits resurrecting from my

Tragic human remains.

 

Its attention I’m a needing, as much as I can get

My throat’s nowhere droughty

And my crunchy wide skin ain’t much browner than a

Baker’s crust

I’m in need of a situation to attract your camera

Attention

Not the time for aspirations to be thought of too

Risky

Not much good writing’s been about them toilers

On the land

Be damned if there’s a song in our dear departed

Slim Dusty.

 

You say there’s plenty going on around your

Media stratosphere

And the stench of events is stronger over your

Northern atmosphere

Oh bugger, then it’s all over for the underdog

Down under

Over for the battler, the super sheila, the

Confederate millionaire

There’ll always be a Bondi, snags and

Collingwood debonair

Yet it’s this bloody insecurity I cannot

Possibly bear.