Nuclear Wasteland

March 20, 1991
Issue 
5
Culture

Nuclear Wasteland

By Peter Brown

I took my child to the nuclear wasteland,

to the nuclear wasteland I took my child,

and the flowers were blue, and the desert was yellow,

while above us the sky rolled, clouds driven by wind.

I took my child to the nuclear wasteland,

to the nuclear wasteland I took my child,

and the trees were grey, and the air was unnatural,

while above us the sky rolled, clouds driven by wind.

I took my child to the nuclear wasteland,

to the nuclear wasteland I took my child,

and we stood at the edge of an endless chasm,

while the billy boiled and all the people of conscience were marched away.

I took my child to the nuclear wasteland,

to the nuclear wasteland I took my child,

to the teeth of the green ant, the belly of the rainbow serpent,

while the billy boiled and all the people of conscience were marched away.

I took my child to the nuclear wasteland,

to the nuclear wasteland I took my child,

and the flowers were blue, and the desert was yellow,

while the billy boiled and all the people of conscience were marched away.

You need Â鶹´«Ã½, and we need you!

Â鶹´«Ã½ is funded by contributions from readers and supporters. Help us reach our funding target.

Make a One-off Donation or choose from one of our Monthly Donation options.

Become a supporter to get the digital edition for $5 per month or the print edition for $10 per month. One-time payment options are available.

You can also call 1800 634 206 to make a donation or to become a supporter. Thank you.