| «Read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers»
|
| «I can’t take it y’all, I can feel the city breathing
|
| Chest heaving, against the flesh of the evening,»
|
| «It's deep, I heard the city breathe in its sleep»
|
| «Read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers»
|
| «I can’t take it y’all, I can feel the city breathing
|
| Chest heaving, against the flesh of the evening,»
|
| «It's deep, I heard the city breathe in its sleep»
|
| «Read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers»
|
| «I can’t take it y’all, I can feel the city breathing
|
| Chest heaving, against the flesh of the evening,»
|
| «It's deep, I heard the city breathe in its sleep»
|
| Can you feel the change in the air?
|
| I never could, took a second look now I see it everywhere
|
| Today moving so fast, becomes yesteryear
|
| And if you can’t keep up, well then you disappear
|
| I see the lonely old buildings round my way
|
| Slowly fall into a state of disrepair
|
| Then the real estate buy it up, sell it off, knock it down
|
| Then it’s gone like it was never there, does anybody care?
|
| Wood, brickwork and steel laid bare
|
| Like the city’s broken bones exposed to the open air
|
| And there I am, the heir apparent
|
| Surveying the damage as my neighbourhood vanishes
|
| Without a trace — an unsolved mystery
|
| Whole decades erased instantly
|
| No room for sympathy in the pursuit of efficiency
|
| The legacy of a colonial dynasty
|
| In a city still growing out it’s infancy
|
| Built on invasion, displacement and misery
|
| Foundations laid by blood, sweat and industry
|
| Of convicts inspired by aspirations of liberty
|
| Before that history goes to the grave
|
| I listen close to the whispers of the ghosts of yesterday
|
| From beneath the coats of paint they speak
|
| Empty shop-fronts the faded evidence of a generation’s dreams
|
| And on a still night, if you listen close
|
| You can still hear the whispers of the ghosts
|
| Seek it out and you’ll find that it’s all around you
|
| The sound of that which was handed down
|
| And on a still night, if you listen close
|
| You can still hear the whispers of the ghosts
|
| Know where we’ve been to grasp where we’re headed
|
| Looking at the past from the present
|
| And on a still night, if you listen close
|
| You can still hear the whispers of the ghosts
|
| «I can’t take it y’all, I can feel the city breathing
|
| Chest heaving, against the flesh of the evening,»
|
| «Read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers»
|
| Now the signs in the street say for lease and for sale
|
| An invitation to dream, a reminder of those who failed
|
| A long way from land grants, rations and dirt trails
|
| Disillusionment’s still in fashion in New South Wales
|
| Rusted iron, rubble and chipped paint
|
| Signs of urban decay in a withered landscape
|
| I see it everyday, the heritage fades
|
| Gentrification, nothing’s gonna get in the way
|
| Of this concept that we call progress
|
| Locked in a contest with our superiority complex
|
| Monuments to man’s dominance are the imagery
|
| Scaffolding sketches out the blueprints of visionaries
|
| In a city still growing out it’s infancy
|
| Built on invasion, displacement and bigotry
|
| Foundations laid by cold-blooded killing sprees
|
| Severed heads sent back on ships for the king to see
|
| Before that history goes to the grave
|
| I listen close to the whispers of the ghosts of yesterday
|
| From beneath the coats of paint they speak
|
| Empty shop-fronts the faded evidence of a generation’s dreams
|
| I stay playing these beats on the same train platform
|
| That Lawson waited on watching faces in the street
|
| Except that somehow the scene appears differently
|
| Soaked under the cold pale glow of electricity
|
| So, before that history goes to the grave
|
| I listen close to the whispers of the ghosts of yesterday
|
| From beneath the coats of paint they speak
|
| Empty shop-fronts the faded evidence of a generation’s dreams
|
| But I know this city, I’ve felt its heart beat
|
| Watched the life breathe through the cracks in the concrete
|
| Where it stops is beyond me
|
| And on a still night, if you listen close
|
| You can still hear the whispers of the ghosts
|
| Seek it out and you’ll find that it’s all around you
|
| The sound of that which was handed down
|
| And on a still night, if you listen close
|
| You can still hear the whispers of the ghosts
|
| Know where we’ve been to grasp where we’re headed
|
| Looking at the past from the present |