Nigh! Listen! Can you hear the anguished cry of a mother’s tears Streaming down a face, contorted with fear Shooh! Hear her now plead to hard men in black suits Who invaded her womb to steal her precious fruit Be quiet! And you will hear a breeze whispering through ghostly trees ’Tis the whimper of stolen children who have vivid memories Of poor mummy and daddy falling to their knees Begging the Wajella’s God to please – set our Coolungars free Bellai, Manatji! Beware of their bold, cold stares Those icy, snake eyes are looking down where Little sister, and baby brother lay hidden, right there Don’t move, don’t breathe, be still the Devil is near Mummy! Daddy! Here they come – run! scattered seeds in the breeze Head for Yonga creek where Great Uncle will be Great Uncle won’t let the Wajellas take thee he’ll fight to the last like he did at Gallipoli But even uncle couldn’t beat this force mightier than we Could ever imagine in our wildest dreams Thus with batons they sunk proud unc’ to his knees Into the belly of the beast they flung Brotherboy, sistergirl and me Nyorn! My poor uncle laying sprawled by the sacred waterhole Blood dripping from a wound that cut deep to his soul He once fought for freedom In another’s country Now laying broken in his heartland denied justice and dignity Shhh! Quiet now Coolungars don’t fret for mummy’s song The Briddea will hear you and preach that ’tis wrong to pine for lesser beings with paganistic ways He’ll flog us, in the name of Jesus then for our souls he will pray Faraway, camp quiet, no children like a midnight cemetery Tears hard like gravel too painful to set free Vacant stunned faces still unable to believe The evil, cruel arrogance of those demonic, Coolungar Thieves.
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