There was no Dream Time for us further up north
Past Queensland where Torres Strait broke us Blackfellas in two.
Your Blackfellas went walkabout with their noisy didgeridoos
While mine still hunted in the bik bus
Deep inside of steaming tropical dreamscapes, that you might like to catch on film,
They were yodelling to each other across mountain canyons
Making war and sometimes eating their enemies too.
You might call that a nightmare, but that was one reality we had.