The walls of your houses hold the echoes and pain
Of the crooks and the grifters that once dwelt in your lanes
When the streets are dark, listen as you walk
.. you might hear the talk
Of holdups and robberies and plans
On Gadigal Land
The earth holds memories of capture and fear
you might hear shouting, or the cries of a child
in your head …
…as you walk above the dead
Go on with your gentrifying, if you think you must – But just
remember who came first.
When you’re dead and gone – the voices still linger on