Verse 1)Concrete high-rise beneath a burning skyGeorge Street watching the suits walk byThey count their millions, I count my changeIn a city so rich, it feels so strangeWarrane waters rolling deep and blueBut there’s no room here for the likes of you.(Verse 2)The morning heat bites the Opera House stepsWhile the lucky country sleeps and forgetsI sweep the shadows from my cardboard bedWith yesterday’s headlines running through my headThe Harbour Bridge is a brown spineHolding up a world that isn't mine.(Chorus)And the summer wind blows down Central StationA forgotten soul in a wealthy nationYou look right through me, you walk on fastA ghost from the present, a ghost from the pastEstablishment smiles on a postcard viewBut the gutter shines just as bright for you.(Verse 3)Metaphorical prophets on the evening newsSelling us futures we can't even useThe silver-tongued premiers promise a changeWhile the real estate prices soar out of rangeA thousand apartments touching the starsBut I’m locked outside behind invisible bars.(Chorus)And the hot wind blows down Central StationA forgotten soul in a wealthy nationYou look right through me, you walk on fastA ghost from the present, a ghost from the pastEstablishment smiles on a postcard viewBut the gutter shines just as bright for you.(Verse 4)I found a sweet coin by the Hyde Park fountainTo a man with nothing, it looks like a mountainBought a coolcuppa tea to keep out the crampWhile the city turns on its electric lampThey pay for their parking, they pay for their sinsWhile I look for my dinner in the metal bins.(Verse 5)The winter is coming, the daylight is shortThey talk about progress in the supreme courtBut justice is expensive and the pavement is freeAnd there’s no song of innocence waiting for meJust the hum of the traffic and the sirens that wailAnother nameless face on a concrete trail.(Bridge)Sugar man, system man, politician, priestWho invites the beggar to the city feast?You sell your sweet illusions in a shiny glass jarWhile we count the cracks from where we areIs it a crime to be down, is it a sin to be bareIn the lucky southern land that pretends to care?(Chorus) Now the cold wind blows down Central StationA forgotten soul in a wealthy nationYou look right through me, you walk on fastA ghost from the present, a ghost from the pastEstablishment smiles on a postcard viewBut the gutter shines just as bright for you.(Outro) now a cold wind blowing...Down Pitt Street Mall.The shadows are growing.The final curtains fall.No dollars for the singer.No answers in the rain.Just the echo of the train.Going home...But not for me.Not for me.
