In 1836, a posse of brave European settlers
Riding horses, armed with muskets
Brutally killed 12 Wiradjuri men, women and children
Can you remind me who the uncivilised ones were?
It all happened not far from my home
Where the kookaburras laugh high in the gum trees
Bodies piled up and burned like rubbish
Can you remind me who the uncivilised ones were?
It was rough justice they said
For the killing of two white settlers by Wiradjuri warriors
But dirty little secrets can’t be kept forever
Can you remind me who the uncivilised ones were?
Courage, bravery, wisdom and love
Maybe we can learn these things
From the traditional owners of the land.
Naturally caring to women with masculinity so pristine
I own the road, yet they squeeze through the bridle path
I have found my peace but nature envies me,
allowing God’s craft to be an inevitable punishment.
No honeycomb is invisible to admirers
his love for me comes with such consequences.
‘I love you’ from me, but one out of a thousand more confessions.
He has completely pledged to me, yet I suffer rough justice
they display so much submission like a script from voo-doo.
On women, his charisma plays a successful ponzi scheme,
geometrically, they increase, I fear and pray for a flatline,
these numerous uncontrolled love is an insidious problem
I have barked but to remain more toothless.
Three is a crowd but a hundred is infirmity
hope is the fuel to patience, my engine
I’ll hold his hand tightly to resist theirs stepwise.
Those who refuse to violate their religious faith
under the Hippocratic Oath beliefs face loosing their jobs
if they refuse to participate in aiding killing babies
The supreme court in London ruled against an Edinburgh court
which supported the women’s claim stating
that they were ‘conscientious objectors’.
This proves one point where law is so corrupted
forcing care workers against their will to commit murder
which is not addressed in the job description saving life
This calls the supreme court completely out of order
standing in favour of killing
throwing every law they have ever made
to the whispering wind an abortion of a justice system
that stands against the truth in every moral right
and the Holy Bible should be removed from their court of law
"Let him have it!" - bang!
The blackguard ought to hang.
Protests were made
and hands were wrung,
but, consequently, Mr. Bentley
swung and swung and swung.
Yet still it was proclaimed
with national pride inflamed
that British justice,
it's grand flag unfurled,
is incidentally, Mr. Bentley,
the best in the whole bloody world.
Now we twelve stood accused,
not guilty but confused.
Rough justice engaged
the wheels within wheels,
and coincidentally, Mr. Bentley,
we now know how it feels.
A tumult of orange and russet hues,
the falling leaves of Autumn glide,
trajectories swirled in a northern wind,
to lie untended, cast aside.
From slate grey sky weeps pregnant rain,
peppers the earth with angel tears;
on the border of Winter's icy promise
the memories strip away the years.
Golden reflections fix the eye
on an innocent child of infant grace,
at play in a world of faraway dreams
in a past that is now a foreign place.
Taken too soon like the falling leaves,
veiled in a curtain of angel rain,
bestowing upon the ones who loved
rough justice of timeless hurt and pain.
Yet through gentle tears and loving smiles
a heart beats in an Autumn gale,
for the soul of a child is a sacred prize
and in love, down the years, will forever prevail.
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