He's had enough of idea-illogical drivel
Too right mate.' I think their brains have
Shrivelled, she'll be right..I say g'day
It allows more time for ( deep contemplation ) in the Aussie way.' We're
Pretty low key.' But don't let it fool ya.'
Cause in linguistics..We can stick it to ya.'
We exell at sports, and here you can still
Find; real men, lean as whalebone up to
Six feet ten , and lissome sheilas who can
Surf the swells, and care for kids..'
So very well, we don't go for souks here.'
We breed'em strong, love the footy fishing
And Slim Dusty songs' Also Stan Coster
well who could forget.? And air supply
( easy listening you bet') Livvy and the seekers
Redfern too' marcia hines, all good through
And through.'
Cool winds sweep across the golden dunes,
Palm trees sway beneath gentle moons.
Morning sun casts a soft, warm glow,
While streets awake, and quiet seas flow.
Souks bustle with laughter and cheer,
Tea and dates shared with those near.
The desert hums a peaceful song,
In Qatar’s winter, days feel long.
Evening skies in shades of pink and gray,
Invite the heart to pause, to stay.
A season mild, yet full of grace,
Winter whispers softly in this place.
Golden sands stretch to the sky,
Whispers of history ride the wind.
Minarets and modern towers rise,
A harmony of past and present.
Souks hum with colors and spice,
Voices of culture, rich and alive.
In every street, in every dune,
Qatar’s heart beats strong and bright.
The sea sparkles beneath the sun,
Dreams and ambition sail together.
Here, in this desert jewel,
Tomorrow meets tradition hand in hand.
There is no world without sins
It is written so
The birth of humanity was the first sin
Sinning flowed like lava from the mountain tops
Sinners and sins
The world to some may seem dark and grim
Floral looks the most beautiful and virgin when is dying
Exquisite and exotic before petals fall crying
There are the ones who defend deplorable beliefs
Instead they should see the autumn, the colors of the leaf
They speak so as to be heard, to have the last word
They are the sinners whom really seem the most absurd
There is no god, no god that you know
It’s in your head you see, and thoughts melt with the snow
Yet sinners march on, carrying crosses and crescents
Sadly their religion is the religion of peasants
Sinners Sin
Some drink tea, some drink gin
There is upon us this ray of slim hope
Seeking enlightenment that comes not from the book
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