yeah, The Australians

Ashwyn Kale August 09, 2007

we’re Arabs without faith, we’re Africans without rhythm,
we’re Americans afraid to tell the world we love ourselves.
we’re Brazilians who can’t dance, we’re Britons without eccentrities.
we’re Westminster in weekend clothes, capitalism counting loose change.
we’re modernism, decadence and soft colonialism. we don’t believe in ideas, not on their own, though sometimes we try to prop up a flaky one with another.

we’re cities without history, we’re small towns without a future,
we’re hobo clowns looking for any gag in seven-million kilometres of wilderness.

we’re born with a stamp of emptiness;
we grow old and die still with emptiness to spare.

we’re Asians without tranquillity, Canadians without a memorable flag, passengers of any nation who forgot to get off the train and just kept on going.

we hate ourselves but still we keep on going. keep the show on the road, eh, mate?

we’re dust and flies, we’re mud and mosquitoes. we love our furry animals. at least the ones not yet driven to extinction.

we’re proud of something. can ya remember, Bluey? we’re forty thousand years young and pissing it all away.

yeah. we’re the Australians, baby.