Theres a place they sit
where the wind don't hit
with a shadow hanging over it
and sing with a sigh
my dirt, my dirt is dry
They put us on the steep
side of the hill
into our weatherboard shack on stilts
all of the while
the deeper the spiral
Inside, all eyes
fi x upon a great divide
Outside, all eyes
fi x upon an empty sky
theres something in the garden
that makes her unhappy
theres something in the garden
that makes her unhappy
I dreamt that they found us
the colour of coal
as smoke crept through the fly wire holes
and my dirt it was drier
than the ash from the fire
I count the days
in sand and sticks
and act brave on the face of it
theres not a cloud in the sky
my dirt, my dirt is dry
Inside, all eyes
fix upon a great divide
Outside, all eyes
fix upon an empty sky
theres something in the garden
that makes her unhappy
theres something in the garden
that makes her unhappy
come on let it wash us down,
down deep
