Gentle carbon footprint, made by the ancient clan.
Blown away by the willy willy that is modern man,
where, where are the Wiradjuri ways these days.
The gentle smoke of camp fire cooking replaced by industrial Hayes and social malaise.
Massive carbon footprint of modern man decimates and desiccates. The landscape raped and trampled on, its spirit gone.
Walk the street discreet as Wiradjuri did, feeling the pulse of the land though naked feet. No freeway ramp to the bush camp. Don’t pave the path or the hearth. Don’t incur the spirits wrath.
Couldn’t we take something from their stewardship to right the ship. Do a backflip from this dead end trip.
Take the flock off the block. Range the herd so that they don’t have to live in their own tird. Graze like wilder beast, let them feast on forage fresh and green and you won’t even see where they have been.
Farmer with depression in a drinking session with a migraine driving him insane yells invane my grain my grain failed again no rain no rain just pain.
the body corporate bounty bound compromised promises diminished resources builds racecourses.
System lotteries bound to attract the immune system compromised chip eaters huddled round chip heaters in a fuel compromised world.
Basic emotions, anger, desire misplaced on fire. Domestic violence the neighbours silence. a bash’n instead of compassion, out of control. Man becomes the devils son. Deadly when he has a gun. The victim trapped no where to go. The beatings grow.
CargelligoWetlands 