Skip to content

Sandstone and Saltwater

© 2005 Words and music by Ben Scott
I look out from South Head, tall above the ocean
Clear blue water in chaotic motion
And at my back the harbour lies quiet and still
I stand on sandstone tiers upon this bright flowering hill
And far to the west through warm air and salty scent
A column of smoke betrays our tiny settlement
To the north above the harbour is the smoke of native fires
Two cultures thrown together seem the same to distant eyes
Sandstone and salt water
Sandstone and salt water
My sturdy young daughter stands for a moment at my side
Her clothes are near rags, my barefoot child
She squints at the morning, peeling nose, mouth yawning
A simple breakfast of bread and tea to fill her belly
She roams so freely over rocks and under limbs
She is not afraid of snakebite on her unprotected shins
Her little hands are hard and worn despite their tender age
Her feet have na’er seen shoes, made tough and hard each day by
Sandstone and salt water
Sandstone and salt water
She knows little of the precariousness of our existence
Though she knows the struggle for survival all too well
And little does she think about the blood that has been spilt
She knows of nothing else, though truly British she is still
As the men of authority clear a path or dig a grave
So many mouths to feed and so called heathen souls to save
The decisions that they make won’t be complete when they are gone
Their legacy will linger here on and on, etched in
Sandstone and salt water Sandstone and salt water
No comments yet

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.