1. |
The Glass
02:29
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Some see the glass half empty
Some see the glass half full
Some see a problem and over-think it
But if I see the glass, I drink it
Life’s journey is long and perplexing
With detours and sliding doors
We all want happiness, no-one wants pain
But you can’t have the rainbow if you don’t have the rain
Some see the glass half empty . . .
In my life I’ve seen floods, I’ve seen bushfires
I’ve seen earthquakes, pandemic and war
That’s when you see kindness, compassion and love
And quiet heroes doing what needs to be done
Some see the glass half empty . . .
When you’re travelling through a long tunnel
Some see darkness, some see light at the end
As that light approaches, some rejoice, some complain
Is it hope for the future, or an oncoming train?
Some see the glass half empty . . .
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2. |
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He was born on the first of February, 1947
A Northcote boy, back in different times
The old pianola was the family’s prized possession
Dad drove trucks and mum sang Patsy Cline
He sang tenor in the church choir, till he discovered rock and roll
By 13 he hit the stage at the Preston Town Hall
And when this mop-top kid belted out his songs, his voice was pure gold
And those teeny-bopper girls would scream for more
He sang Shakin’ All Over, and Que Sera
And It Ain’t Necessarily So
He was the King of Pop, the top of the charts
He was a hero — Normie Rowe
Now over in the USA, Elvis was the King
He’d been drafted as a soldier for Uncle Sam
And a struggling Harold Holt was looking for a win
To justify why we were fighting in Vietnam
So when they drew the marbles out with each young man’s date of birth
Normie’s number came up, and he served his country well
From Pukapunyal to Vietnam the King of Pop was sent
He saw things you shouldn’t see, and mates who fell
He was shakin’ all over, que sera
It ain’t necessarily so
He was the King of Pop, the top of the charts
He was a hero — Normie Rowe
Back home he faced protesters and post-traumatic stress
The King of Pop no more, never had a hit again
And to this day the question hangs: Was that ballot rigged?
Was he sacrificed for politicians’ gain?
But Normie, he was valiant, he soldiered on and made the best
Playing Leagues Clubs and acting on TV
And he’s fought long and hard for the cause of Vietnam vets
And he’s accepted: What will be will be
He sang Shakin’ All Over, and Que Sera
And It Ain’t Necessarily So
He was the King of Pop, the top of the charts
He was a hero — Normie Rowe
He is a hero — Normie Rowe
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3. |
Déjà Vu
01:47
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Have you ever had déjà vu? It’s such a strange recurring feeling
You know, the feeling that what’s happening now has happened before
It’s like time is not a line, but a circle
that goes round & round & round & round & round & round & round
That’s déjà vu, that’s déjà vu
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4. |
I'M ON THE TRAIN!
02:58
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I’M ON THE TRAIN … YEAH … NO
I’M ON THE TRAIN … HELLO?
I’M ON THE TRAIN
I RECKON I’LL BE HOME IN ABOUT HALF AN HOUR
YEAH, WE’RE GOING THROUGH RICHMOND JUST NOW
YOU KNOW … I WAS THINKING … SORRY … WHAT?
NO, I DIDN’T GET THAT. MUST HAVE BEEN A DEAD SPOT . . .
YEAH … NOT TOO BAD … YEAH … A BIT HARD TO SAY
EXCEPT FOR THAT PRICK JASON. OTHERWISE IT WAS OK
NO, THAT’S BEEN GOING PRETTY WELL SO FAR
BUT I STILL GOTTA SORT OUT THAT LITTLE THING WITH HR . . .
SO, I WAS THINKING. MAYBE WE COULD HAVE STIR FRY TONIGHT
YEAH … MMMM … I GUESS SO … RIGHT
WHAT WAS THAT? … OK, GOOD … YEAH, THAT’D BE NICE . . .
AND I COULD STOP BY AT WOOLIES AND PICK UP SOME RICE
WHO!!!??? … I GUESS SO
BUT WHAT ABOUT …. I KNOW
BUT DIDN’T THEY ….. OH!
YEAH … YEAH … YEAH … YEAH … YEAH … YEAH … YEAH … YEAH … NO
OH, DID I TELL THAT JACK’S FRIEND NEVILLE’S EX-WIFE’S
NEW PARTNER’S DOG WALKER’S BABY’S HAD A TUMMY GRIPE?
YEAH. THEY RECKON SHE’S BEEN SPEWING JUST EVERYWHERE
I THINK THEY’RE IRRESPONSIBLE PARENTS. BUT I WON’T GO THERE . . .
OH, I SAW BRENDA TODAY. MY GOD! WHAT A BITCH
OH, HAVE YOU SPOKEN TO THE DOCTOR YET ABOUT THAT ITCH?
I’M A LITTLE BIT WORRIED THAT IT’S SORE TO THE TOUCH
IT MIGHT BE GONORRHEA — OR IT COULD BE THRUSH . . .
AARGH, IT’S SO NOISY HERE, I’D BETTER SPEAK UP. YEAH
FOR SOME REASON I’M GETTING ALL THESE ANGRY STARES
GOTTA GO NOW, GOT ANOTHER CALL — WHAT A PAIN
HELLO . . . I’M ON THE TRAIN
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5. |
Year of Wonders
02:41
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This is the year of wonders
The year of despair
Chinks of light in the overwhelming darkness
Acts of love everywhere
We’re standing together
Though we’re standing apart
We’re finding new ways to bridge the chasm
We’re finding our heart
And we’re singing together
We’re filling the void
From the windows of Rome to the phones in our homes
We’re finding our voice
In this year of wonders . . .
As we count our blessings
Name them one by one
Leave aside unnecessary things
We’re finding our home
Generosity is infectious
And kindness can spread
So wear a mask, but be sure to share the love
There are bright days ahead
In this year of wonders . . .
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6. |
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He died alone in Reykjavik, at the age of 64
That’s a year for every square on a chessboard
He was buried in a lonely graveyard on a bitter winter’s night
Just swirling snow and a grave left unadorned
But years before he was the top of the world, the darling of the press
The golden boy of chess, a gifted genius
Grandmaster at just 15, the youngest ever seen
His game was magic and it seemed he had no weakness
Oh Bobby Fischer, Oh golden boy
His game was magic and it seemed he had no weakness
In ’72 the world was split, the Cold War at its height
And the Soviet Union’s chess players were unrivalled
And here’s this All American kid, so difficult, so bright
Out to prove the Free World’s better than the Evil Empire
Fischer versus Spassky in Reykjavik, the whole world was enthralled
As chess became the battlefield of nations
A tense, demanding diva, he won no friends at all
But he won the championship and the adulation
Oh Bobby Fischer, Oh golden boy
He won the championship and the adulation
He was not your textbook hero, he refused to play the game
He stopped competing, gave up his title
He spoke of dark conspiracies, in paranoid tirades
Full of hateful racist rantings, full of spite
He renounced his US citizenship, abandoned his land of birth
Sought refuge in Hungary, Philippines and Japan
Till Iceland let him stay, that’s where he spent his final days
A gifted, sad, reclusive broken man
Oh Bobby Fischer, Oh golden boy
A gifted, sad, reclusive broken man
He died alone in Reykjavik, at the age of 64
That’s a year for every square on a chessboard
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7. |
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She danced with all her heart and she showed us how
She fought for people’s rights, speaking strong and loud
She showed us what a woman in science can do
We thank you so much, Shirley Andrews
As a young girl she saw Pavlova on the stage
Lit a fire in her heart from an early age
She wrote the bible of Australian folk dance
And she’d be up on that dance floor when she had half a chance
She danced with all her heart . . .
When she saw injustice she stood up to fight it
Racism was rife — she vowed to right it
She led the campaign in ’67 when all Australians were asked
To recognise our First Peoples as equals at last
She danced with all her heart . . .
In the face of male bias she showed her defiance
She shone as a woman in the men’s world of science
Her lithium research was so thorough and so clever
That it changed mental health care forever
She danced with all her heart . . .
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8. |
Blobfish
02:28
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I live at the bottom of the ocean near Australia
Four thousand feet below
I’ve got the sort of face only a mother could love
Like a slimy pink bulbous big toe
Even when I’m happy I always look sad
My mouth in a permanent frown
With these big droopy eyes it might be easy to despise me
But please don’t put me down
I’m a blobfish, a blobfish — I live at the bottom of the sea
I’m a blobfish, a blobfish — the ugliest creature in the world, that’s me.
My scientific name is Psychrolutes marcidus
But it’s just plain ‘blobfish’ to my friends
You may think your life is hard, but you shouldn’t make a fuss
’Cos way down here, the pressure is intense
Well they held a vote to find the ugliest creature in the world
And guess what — I won!
But what about the axolotl? What about the scrotum frog?
And . . . what about Peter Dutton!
I’m a blobfish, a blobfish . . .
Now we blobfish are endangered, we get caught in deep sea nets
And it seems people just don’t understand
That every creature is important in our precious web of life
Not just the cute and cuddly ones like the panda
So you can laugh at my appearance, make jokes about my face
’Cos let’s face it, my face would make you cringe
But remember not to judge someone’s worth by how they look
Because true beauty lies within.
I’m a blobfish, a blobfish . . .
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9. |
The Land is a Map
03:31
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This place was once called Langi-yan, that was its name since time began
Langi-yan means ‘resting place of the moon’
Strangers came and changed the name, now it’s called Mt Misery
‘Cos some disoriented explorers were in a bad mood.
Where volcanoes once raged, but sleep now, for many thousand years
This hill was called Gerinyelam, that means ‘hill of fire’
Dreaming songs of its creation were sung, far and near
Now it’s called Mt Elephant, ’cos that’s kind of what it looks like.
The Land is a Map — if we can only see it
The Land is a Map — if we can only read it
We’ve blotted it out, we’ve hidden its stories.
Yallabirang, this place by the river, is where spears were made from reeds
Where ancestors fashioned spearheads from the local wood
Now it’s named for a British man who sailed distant seas
Vice Admiral Lord Cuthbert Collingwood.
The Land is a Map . . .
Worrowen means ‘place of sorrow’, where a carved tree stood as a shrine
For the many Boonworrung who died on this battle ground
Their memory is gone now, lost in the mists of time
Now we call the place Brighton, for an English seaside town
The Land is a Map . . .
Repeat, replacing last line with: We’re finding it out, uncovering its stories
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10. |
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The year was 1854, and all through London town
The evil scourge of cholera was spreading all around
Soho was the centre, and with the outbreak at its peak
In that neighbourhood alone 500 died within a week
No-one knew the cause, no reason could be found
They thought it was miasma that was rising from the ground.
John Snow was a doctor with a passion for the truth
For years he’d had a theory, but he couldn’t find the proof
So he went down to Soho determined to discover
The facts behind this outbreak that caused so many there to suffer
He examined every case, where people lived and what they did
And then he drew a map, and the answer was revealed.
There was a cluster round the Broad Street pump, you could see it on his map
Everyone who’d died had taken water from this tap
He left no stone unturned, he knocked on every door
Confirming that contaminated water was the cause
Immediately he knew just what should be done
So he got the local council to take the handle off the pump.
Just like turning off a tap, the outbreak stopped right in its tracks
But ignorance persisted, and the handle was put back
It took many years till what he’d done was truly understood
And clean water could be guaranteed to London’s neighbourhoods
And cholera’s now gone from the whole developed world
But elsewhere we must wait – until poverty is destroyed
There’s so much to thank John Snow for, and his map that changed the world
The father of epidemiology, his story must be told
We must remember how he fought for the truth to be heard
’Cos for many, old beliefs and not the facts are were preferred
And when you think about life’s problems, be it health or climate change
If you think you know more than the experts — think again!
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11. |
These Old Bones
03:54
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These old bones are tired now and weary
This old back is wracked with aches and pains
These old hands may hurt and aren’t so steady any more
But this old heart still loves you just the same
When first I looked into your eyes I felt a tiny spark
Lit a fire that kept growing more and more
We tended to the embers as the years and seasons passed
Now this old flame still burns brightly as before
These old bones are tired now and weary . . .
A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step
Sometimes we stumble, sometimes boldly stride
And though these feet are blistered long before the journey’s end
These old legs are still walking by your side
These old bones are tired now and weary . . .
The years roll on, love’s first passion may be gone
But in its place the warm embrace of lasting love goes on and on and on
These old bones are tired now and weary . . .
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12. |
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What do you know about the pangolin?
In fact, do you know anything at all?
There are so many myths that need some disentangling
Are they reptile, mammal, fish or fowl, and are they big or small?
Well, for a start, they are mammals, of the Order Pholidota
The only mammals in the world that are covered in scales
When they’re threatened they release an awful foul smelling odour
And their scales are made of keratin, just like our fingernails
And they can curl up in a ball just like an armadillo
With those scales sticking out their self-protection is enhanced
They grow up to one metre, weigh as much as 30 kilo
With their long sticky tongue they eat termites and ants
What do you know about the pangolin?
I guess you’ve learnt a little bit just now
There are still many myths that need some disentanglin’
Are they safe or endangered, and if so, why and how?
There are eight separate species, from Africa and Asia
And they’ve been here on this earth almost 100 million years
But the bad news that I have is that they’re critically endangered
The illegal wildlife trade could make them disappear
’Cos they are hunted for their meat, and they’re hunted for their scales
To treat asthma, cure cancer, help new mothers with their milk
There’s no evidence it works, but that won’t stop illegal sales
And they say 100,000 pangolins a year are killed
So, what do you know about the pangolin?
I hope you’ve learnt a little more each verse
I’ve got more to tell, so I won’t leave you danglin’
What can we do to save them, to stop things getting worse?
There’s lots of speculation that pangolins were the vector
That carried Covid-19 to humans from bats
But even if that’s true it’s not their fault, they need protection
We shouldn’t trade them in the markets, we should preserve their habitats
Now, some say that this pandemic is the Pangolin’s Revenge
But they’re really cute and harmless, if we don’t get in their way
So each year on the third Saturday of February
Let’s celebrate together, ’cos that’s World Pangolin Day!
So if you’ve listened to my song about the pangolin
You’ll know all you need to know, if I’m not wrong
We took some myths and we did some disentanglin’
And did I mention? There’s a test at the end of this song!
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13. |
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She was built of the finest Scottish Larch and sturdy British Oak
In Aberdeen. She was the pride of the Black Ball Line
18,000 yards of canvas sails, she was built for speed
In the golden age of sail, in 1855.
Clippers ruled the seas, despite the coming of the steamer
And gold had been discovered in Australia
The Schomberg was the finest, fastest clipper ever seen
They said Melbourne could be reached in 60 days,
Oh-oh, Melbourne could be reached in 60 days.
‘Bully’ Forbes was the captain, the hero of the time
As a seaman and commander he had no peer
In just 68 days he’d made the trip sailing for the Black Ball Line
He was arrogant and proud. He knew no fear.
When she sailed out of Liverpool on a fine October day
500 crew and passengers upon her
A cheering crowd lined the docks and wished them on their way
And the band played The Schomberg Galop, written in her honour
Oh-oh, the band played The Schomberg Galop, written in her honour
But her heavy cargo weighed her down and progress was too slow
For ten days no breeze filled those ample sails
Bully Forbes paced the deck, tried to whistle up the wind
But neither skill nor superstition could avail
Then storms and tempests lashed them as they ventured further south
On the Great Circle Route, through blinding gales
When Cape Bridgewater came in sight they were 80 long days out
It was Christmas Day. Bully Forbes had failed
Oh-oh, it was Christmas Day. Bully Forbes had failed
The next night Forbes was drinking, and he was playing cards
With a young female companion below decks
When the Third Mate comes down and warns of land close on the starboard
He says, “I think it might be wise to go and check.”
But ‘Bully’ Forbes kept playing whist, he said “Let her go to Hell!”
“Come back and tell me when she’s run aground!”
The bo's'n took command, but the hand of fate was dealt
And on the reef the Schomberg soon went down
Oh-oh, on the reef the Schomberg soon went down
The lifeboats all were lowered and the passengers were saved
The crew remained to salvage what they could
In pounding seas the ship broke up and sank beneath the waves
Just a pile of rope and rubble and broken wood.
The trial was a farce and ‘Bully’ Forbes got off scot free
But from that day on he was a broken man
He no longer was the celebrated master of the seas
How fleeting are life’s glories and great plans
Oh-oh, how fleeting are life’s glories and great plans
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14. |
Your Letter
02:37
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When I read your letter an unexpected tear trickled down my face
To see again that familiar hand, that perfect copperplate
After all these years
When I read your letter
Feels like forever since that hand held on to my hand with strength and love
And though the deeds of long ago can never be undone
I still hold you dear
Feels like forever
And I won’t be bitter. I will hold the memories of my childhood in my heart
As I read your words once more I swear that I won’t fall apart
I’ll pretend you’re here
I won’t be bitter
I don’t know why I’ve kept these things from when I was so young
I don’t know why you said those things, but I’ll always be your son
And I don’t know how long forgiveness takes, or if it ever comes . . .
So when I read your letter an unexpected tear trickled down my face
When I read your letter
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15. |
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Old teachers never die, they just lose their class
Old musicians never die, they just go from bar to bar
Old farmers never die, they just go to seed
Old jokes never die, they get recycled by blokes like me
Old lawyers never die, they just lose their appeal,
I guess that’s something we always knew
Old soldiers never die — ah, but young ones do
Old fishermen never die, they just smell that way
And old songwriters never die, they just repeat and fade
Old songwriters never die, they just repeat and fade . . .
(Repeat and fade)
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Bruce Watson Melbourne, Australia
Joyful, hilarious, thought provoking and totally engaging original songs from one of Australia's foremost songwriters and performers in the folk style.
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