Double Pneumonia -

He’s always had double pneumonia

For as long as I can recall

Not quite sure how he caught it

But I can imagine it all

Maybe his old man was in town

Taking the kids around for the day

«How ‘bout some fun at the Randwick races?

There are horses and feathers and coloured silks and acres of scrunched up

papers»

They dreamed of escaping

They dreamed of breaking away

Out those gates

Back at home she’s sitting at the table

From a box of wine she continually pours

Planning a meal for the neighbours

While feeding eight kids from nothing at all

Sweltering summer lawns take off

Deafening mowers and the rising dust

Trying to hear the results with our ears still ringing

Riding together in the cab of the truck

On evenings he cleaned the pool

Shimmering, so faithfully blue

Scooping up dead butterflies

He jokes that he’s ready to die

He’s so bored with his life

And still I don’t call

Cause we don’t know how to talk

I don’t remember you being so sad

Sitting in the bath with the race page so long

A good man who doesn’t deserve to drown

Or get drawn a double figure barrier start

He jokes that he’s ready to die

He seems so sore

And yet, still I don’t call

Cause we don’t know how to talk