On an island in a river, how that bitter river ran
I grew on scraps of charity in the best way that you can .
On an island in a river, where I grew to be a man.
For dole bread is bitter bread, bitter bread and sour
There's grief in the taste of it, there's weevils in the flour,
There's weevils in the flour.
And just across the river stood the mighty B.H.P.,
Poured pollution on the waters, poured the lead of misery
And its smoke was black as Hades rolling hungry to the sea.
In those humpies by the river where we lived on dole and stew,
While just across the river those greedy smokestacks grew,
And the hunger of the many filled the bellies of the few.
On an island in a river how that bitter river ran
It broke the banks of charity and it baked the bread of man
On an island in a river where I grew to be a man.
For dole bread is bitter bread, there's weevils in the flour
But men grow strong as iron upon black bread and sour,
Black bread and sour.
I grew on scraps of charity in the best way that you can .
On an island in a river, where I grew to be a man.
For dole bread is bitter bread, bitter bread and sour
There's grief in the taste of it, there's weevils in the flour,
There's weevils in the flour.
And just across the river stood the mighty B.H.P.,
Poured pollution on the waters, poured the lead of misery
And its smoke was black as Hades rolling hungry to the sea.
In those humpies by the river where we lived on dole and stew,
While just across the river those greedy smokestacks grew,
And the hunger of the many filled the bellies of the few.
On an island in a river how that bitter river ran
It broke the banks of charity and it baked the bread of man
On an island in a river where I grew to be a man.
For dole bread is bitter bread, there's weevils in the flour
But men grow strong as iron upon black bread and sour,
Black bread and sour.
Contributed by Bernart - 2013/7/23 - 16:48
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Parole di Dorothy Hewett (1923-2002), poetessa e scrittrice femminista e comunista.
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