I’ll go to Maketu,
Not far from the sea,
Destination Red Square,
Place to be.

Observe the view,
Deck to ocean,
Eyesight to seabird,
Creates emotion.

Capture the moment,
Seaside resort,
Perfect location,
The incumbents bought.

Fifty years and getting on,
Emotions in head and heart,
I’m closer to the end of my life,
Than I am to the start.

So grow old as I will,
I’ll record for you my tales,
By clever use of written word,
And a capacity for e-mails.

A million seller I’ll never be,
That’s simply not my lot,
Just stories for the family,
All with a wonderful plot.

A moment out to drift in time,
Remembering old songs we sung,
And Lyons Road said it all,
About life when we were young.

Whilst I hear sibling books,
May never reach my sight,
Treasured stories never told,
And that is why I write.

I don’t do,
I don’t not do,
I don’t not do what I don’t do,
I don’t do what I do do if I don’t want to.

But what I do do,
Is what I don’t do as well as I can,
And what I don’t do is what I do do well.

So don’t you do,
what I do do,
Or you’ll do what I dont do,
And forget what I do do.

The whistling breeze it shifted,
Shadows cast a dark and eerie net,
And the mystery of Kettle Plains,
Would be anything but kept.

Lights flashed like distant stars,
As howls greeted a straining ear,
And the mystery of Kettle Plains,
Had everyone in fear.

Sirens heard through murky fog,
Painful cries almost human,
And the mystery of Kettle Plains,
Became, even more consuming.

Spotlights shone like laser beams,
That lit up ghostly shapes,
And the mystery of Kettle Plains,
May explain a lot of rapes.

Police car lights painted the night,
When all hell, suddenly came to the fore’,
And the mystery of Kettle Plains,
Was about to face the law.

Surrounded by the posse,
The perpetrator was now caught,
And the mystery of Kettle Plains,
Was just a tom cat and his sort.

Gossamer on the wind,
Oh! here we go,
The ride of a lifetime,
Just floating so.

Tis’ fine by me,
For I have no say,
Of this zephyr’s ego,
Anyway.

There are no appeals,
No choice of life,
Fertilise her,
Then food for a wife.

Our hats go off to Gondwana Land,
For it may just prove our point,
That New Zealand was part of Australia,
And the seventh state we anoint.

Now don’t deny it our good friends,
You broke from New South Wales,
It might have been eighty million years ago,
But our memory never fails.

So along with our great dairy cows,
You also got some sheep,
You’re feeding them all, on lush green grass,
And in drought, we put ours to sleep.

And what about our fish you took,
We really need placation,
Because what you call bait over there,
Would almost feed our nation.

Do you remember our long white clouds?
That once hovered above our plains,
They made sure we averted droughts,
And they dropped the winter rains.

Yeah! Then you nicked our all blacks,
And Phar Lap our thoroughbred,
So we had to invent the wallabies,
And race our fastest donkeys instead.

See we really have a dilemma,
Cause we miss you all so much,
You are now a land of champions,
And we’re just out of touch.

So come on home you wonderful kiwi’s,
There’ll be a minimum of fuss,
That seventh state of Australia,
Will again be part of us?

You had to love Lyons Road,
It was a paradise for us,
Pepper trees in Kiltie Ave,
And the old Bowmans bus.

The McCormack’s and the Morton’s,
True friends to us indeed,
Always there to help us,
That family most in need,

Prince the dog waitin’ for Dad,
Gee that was great,
And if Joe was comin’ home today,
He’d be sittin’ at the gate.

And Phil workin’ at Johnnies,
Made Old Betty Proud,
He brought home meat and cheese,
I heard her thank im’ loud.

Limestone in the driveway,
Leading to the shed,
Where Old Joe parked his car,
That you beaut, 53′ chev.

The grapevines and the marrows,
That hung from the sky,
Gave us kids heaps of shade,
And in summer we got by.

Rows of flowers in a line,
Vegetables all a treat,
A better gardener than Old Joe,
You would never meet.

Arkus, the cockatoo,
Swore a little bit,
But try and offer a finger,
You were likely to get bit.

But Lyons Road was special,
That place sure rings a bell,
Cos’ that’s when I remember,
I was as happy as bloody hell.

If life could be better,
Then why not so,
And all the angst,
That kindred be foe.

If life could be better,
Let’s give it a go,
And everyone forgives,
Old Betty and Joe.

If life could be better,
We’d stand in a row,
And all of the siblings,
Stand toe to toe.

If life could be better,
The truth we do sow,
And the glasshouse windows,
Would all have to go.

You walk by roses bloom,
Grey skies give way to blue,
You walk by and birds will sing,
All beautiful things are you.

Use your voice and the deaf can hear,
The blind see clearly through,
Use your voice the weak turn strong,
All miracles are you.

Write your thoughts and people smile,
The unfortunate can dream anew,
Write your thoughts the illiterate read,
All hope in life is you.

You provide a friend for the lonely,
Make rich of the poor, it’s true,
Heaven and earth for everyone,
All godliness is you.

Oh! Mother you are far away,
Could it be that’s your way?
Sundays very special I say,
Have a happy Mothers day.

Pleased that you’re doin’ OK,
A fit old dear I’d say,
Must be a non-drinker hey, hey hey,
Have a happy Mothers day.

Hope everyone sends a card your way,
It’s not very long till the day,
When every one of us will say,
Have a happy Mothers day.

Blow up the balloons big today,
And we will all say hooray,
Another fantastic day in May,
Have a happy Mothers day.

Paolo copyright 2003