A night at the opera / seductive heroines meet their death / stabbed, poisoned, strangled – / drive to madness by men / abused, tormented – / while audiences rise to their feet / for the final aria soars sublime / fleeting heroes weave their slow plot / against female power and strength
My heart aches for Australia Beats with sorrow For the women that walk the streets When night time falls Luring men to their fate For she is nature And men need to rise above Soft maidens and wine To reach their angels Waiting patiently at home Expecting him to be faithful With aching hearts
A wanderer stands at the statue of Robert Burns A digger’s tent is lonely in the night But a woman is other to the men that laid Our countries roots in song and verse She was melancholy, as the lonely curlew cried Men are sailors battling the weather and dying Women’s hearts break with all…
A drover lives in isolation Dreams of a lady’s hand Until he reaches the city And finds that his boots Are a little too dusty
good men brave and true do not fear the leap into danger it is for women and children to sit home and quiver until the good men do not return
In the afterlife mystics nebulous, supernatural spiritual female souls search sacraments, internalising blame. Penitent pawns gesture, curious priests castigating celestial glory, communicating with angels tempted by women’s receptivity, exciting his lust.
Fear is the weapon against laughter, freedom, liberty is too freely used for being, just to be; hope runs scarlet in the streets, grief sirens down below power is existence but there is no surrender.