Phyl Lobl




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About a time that split the nation.The Franklin River of Tasmania and its whisky coloured water, courtesy of the button grass, were saved by the Blockade but there were other casualties. The people from both sides told their stories to help create this 'difficult to write song.'


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Words & Music: Phyl Lobl

You still flow through the button grass no scars on you but some on us,
The memories of all the fuss that take their time to die,

Tumbling tannin, joy in motion,
Rolling to the Southern Ocean
Wild River, still free.

Your whisky waters spill away the Blockade's just a memory,
We understand now Power Play and just how we were used,
Our patchwork town was torn apart, head lined up against the heart,
But life is not quite like a sport, sometimes the loser wins,

Jobs for now or future's right, we argued through long sleepless nights,
Our bloodless war with bitter spite fought on our innerspring,
There's many felt the same as me, who shut their mouths so they could be,
At peace with all their family. Oh how I needed them.

I will forget what we have lost, I know the gain was worth the cost,
But how I miss my Johnny's trust, he's painted me bright green,
The Franklin fight hurt Johnny too, he wanted me, he valued you,
But what other job was he to do? "We have to eat", he said.

Now will the Nation pay the debt ,we've waited long we're waiting yet,
For millions owed for West Coast sweat that lines the metal mines.
There is one thought that comforts me, my children's children they will see,
Your tumbling waters running free and learn to be like you.



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