I had something to say so I called you on the line,

That thing in your hand is a telephone not a pen to sign;

This things going down on paper and it's a little hard to talk,

Unless the land line becomes a mobile I won't be able to walk.


Then we got the fax and email and internet on the phone line,

Now they want to do that so when it goes through the air it will be fine;

There are the grey old years of weather and whether I rang you up,

Are all a bit black and white now with the colour of the cup.


For television was better to see and telephone to hear and speak,

You had to listen carefully to both though to know the one must seek;

I'm insisting on listening because I don't want to die tone deaf,

And the week become the months and the money the bill and breath.


Well God is on the line now and it's the royal telephone,

I've seen and read of the Queen but it's Jesus's atmosphere;

That the visit that he paid us was me or she who had the fear,

Like the prime minister's decision is to privatise, was it really fair?


So this poetry goes down on paper and people read the poem,

That the spirit of being an Australian is that I still call Australia home;

And we can't ring up when flying of call family while asleep,

But the call is fast becoming a minister's telecommunications sheep.


Now I want to talk to someone but don't know whether to ring or be rung,

So ill sit and take my medicine for the sin I sing and I've sung;

If you're in the business of making telephone calls all the time,

Take a bit more time out to read this the name of mine in rhyme.



The Operator