Tonight's weather is brought to you by -

It's still warm out.
And it is said, "Bloody Melbourne." Or, "Welcome to Australia,"
But we all know the world has turned upside down now.  And March will be hot and April will be hot and June will be hot.
And records will be set and we'll...
So we adopt a soothing tone as we expound with reason worthy of TV lawyers, "We're fucked.  We've wrought it upon ourselves. We are indeed a virus!"
And we will do nothing with that mellifluous, enlightened path of complaint and compliance other than preen and fret,
Or conversely take to revealing all that is ugly and abrasive and useless about ourselves. We will too loudly use time-honoured, hackneyed barbs:
sheeple
lefty
commy
pinko
homo
bleeding
fucking
heart
what
the
hell?
why
do
you
even
LIVE
in
this
country?
bring
back
the
death
penalty!
bludger
naif
You
didn't
fight
in
the
frigging
war
like
I
did!
Or,
more
realistically,
(which
is
what
I
meant
to
say
after
all,
smartarse)
my
old
man
did.
And
so
the
march
of
the
weary
battle
hymn
goes
on
and
on
and
on.
And it's warm out.
Maybe even hot out.
I've eaten too much and I'm all talked out so like hell I'm going outside at this late hour just to appease the whiners or knuckle draggers.
And we will pack our hideous neologisms and best and useless intentions in the worn out handbasket we have carried so valiantly and so long.
And we will find the arch guarded now only by the dusty bones of Cerberus.
And we will witness the ash that remains of what was once hell.
And we will then - and only then - realise we have nowhere else to go.

World Party