In The Wide Brown Country

To the wide brown country the Seasons come and go South in South Australia where the Murray flow Through the wide brown country where the brown dust fly When the gales are rushing down the southern sky. In the wide brown country woods not there to see Where the mighty Murray crawls on towards the sea Through the bone dry paddocks that are never green Mother Nature in this landscape in her brown only seen. Where the black tribes fished and hunted centuries ago Little of their culture others seem to know Through the wide brown country they travelled far and wide And theirs was a great culture but their culture with them died. In the wide brown country wildering flowers are rare And the sun parched paddocks always looking bare And where only the hardiest can hope to survive Emu, wombat and wallaby and grey roo seem to thrive. In the wide brown country where the Murray flow Onwards towards the ocean onwards ever slow And the grass is growing brown even where the rains have been In that brown old country that man has failed to green.