The far horizon swathed in red

has bid the dying sun to bed

as she slips slowly out of sight,

and daylight fades to welcome night.

I see this evening in my head,

the far horizon swathed in red,

where wavelets wash that dark'ning sand

that calls to mind a distant land.

A fleeting thought begins to gleam,

as if in some forgotten dream;

the far horizon swathed ...

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Far, far away beneath a southern sky

where unfamiliar stars shimmered on high

and Uluru loomed through the pale moonlight

Anangu tribesmen danced for our delight.

They danced a tale of how they’d live and die

far, far away beneath a southern sky

their history not based on written word

but verbally so everybody heard

a chronicle of sixty thousand years,

survived...

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