Killin time on Hawthorne street.  Copyright M.Ziza 2003 (11/11/02)
(drop-D, D69/G69 mainly)

Killin time, parked on Hawthorne street
An endless parade shoots by, it's a 5 o'clock jam
I see a poodle out walkin its owner, yeah its got her by a leash
The twitching man comes back, there's nothin on the flicks

Opposite the park there's a little yellow building
scratchy fibro front, the numbers sprayed on the door
maybe it used to be a shop, a mechanic or a brewry
no one lives there cept for the bin just outside

So while I'm pickin at the crumbs of my half eaten sandwich
A woman scrapes by, in deep conversation...
Now that'd be ok, on any other racecourse
But she argues with the air, Cause there's nobody else around (RPT)

(solo thingy)

Oh as the sky starts singing gently. "Stormy Weath-er"
It plays me its pitter-patter, roof top tune
I'm almost ready dreamin, but the air is still steamin
But not for much longer, it's gonna cool down real soon.

Now it's a grey grey evening
A Grandma is teasing, her sons' little boy, he's dodging raindrops with his feet.
Well the car lights are all on, an I'm almost done.
The drycleaners do a roaring trade....

(Chorus)
Oh.. Brisbanes not a city, it's an urban sprawl landscape
The houses are temples, for the worshipping crowd
with joggers an kickers, drivers an sliders, smakers an wackers
of red blue and brown.
Couples and screamers, scullers an schollars, and pert butt pristine poodled power walkers . . .  ...run all over town