The Continent That Kills

Down under lies a land of thrills,
A sunburned place that kills—just chills.
The spiders plot in corners tight,
The snakes all wink before they bite.

Kangaroos may look quite sweet,
Until they launch with powerful feet.
Drop a toe in any pond or stream,
And the crocs will make your nightmares seem… tame.

The plants? Oh, don’t you start to cheer,
The flora’s armed to pierce or sear.
Stingy nettles, drop bears (rumor-born),
Even the flowers seem war-ready at dawn.

The desert bakes with ruthless glee,
The sand will scorch your soles for free.
Cyclones swing like drunken thugs,
And drop a fruit on your head—just hugs?

Some humans here are quite a test,
“Friendly” often means “you’ll be pressed.”
They wrestle snakes, they surf on sharks,
Invite you to swim with box-jellyfish marks.

Yet somehow in this lethal land,
Tourists laugh while losing a hand.
For every deathly, biting, stinging frill,
Australia still thrills… and kills.