Graeme Connors - Let The Canefields Burn

File info:

There's a painting of my grandfather, on my mothers side 

In the hallway of our homestaed, in a special place of pride 

With his bulldogs and kanakas, back in eighteen nighty three 

In a linen suit and a panama, they say he looked like me. 

 

And the story goes he came out, to make a brand new start 

In an effort to forget, a sad affair of the heart 

So with these romantic notions, to the colonies he came 

Where he settled in the tropics and made his fortune growing cane. 



Chorus:

Well let the canefields burn, let the flames rise 

Let the politicians and the bankers in the city look up 

In wonder at the glow at in the sky. 

Let the canefield burn, let me feel no pain 

When I drown my soul in whisky, and dance in the flames.



There's a photo of my parents, taken in between the wars 

In London, Rome or Paris, I don't know for shure 

But it hangs there in the hallway and there's one for every year 

Fortunes made, and fortunes paid, for champagne souveniers. 

 

Chorus:... let the canefields burn... 



And they say they're gonna take this all away from me 

The cars the cane the homestead, all my family history 

Let the auctioneer open... with a price for charred remains! 

 

Chorus:... let the canefields burn...