PARADISE LOST.

There've been three generations before me,

now myself and my wife, my two sons as well,

we live in this place that we've always called "home."

 

Friendly peace, and steady quiet, cheerful starry nights,

Now we are looking at the burning gates of hell.

These gentle dells, of poultry farms,

and vegies green on rolling hills;

long term village friends,

will soon know too well

where Badgery Brereton's been.

Two bitumen cannons are pointing, - at us.

Kero coated. Gnashing, wailing screams

from Pratt and Whitney, Rolls Royce as well

The labour of Labor.

Please send us a Saviour.

'Lest soon we be thrown through those burning gates;

the very first lambs to the slaughter.

And slowly but surely will follow the rest;

- All of you people of Sydney.

P.J. Cork