Subtropical metropolis
skyscraper shadows – no stopping this
paved paradise, now we're knee-deep in bitumen
hemmed in by highways, rent hikes, and greedy men
storm cloud stagnation, taste the humidity
sweat glues us to the couch, or is it apathy?
streets mutating, the past erased
evaporating community, we all displaced
maybe one day we'll live and work in little concrete boxes
and never see the sun
talk to our computers but not to other humans
paint bomb futility in 4101
the city is a playground, the city is a cage
they say we're getting richer
but you can't pay the mortgage on minimum wage
change the frame but it's still the same picture

They call it progress
we call it madness
take your pay cheque don't question this
everyone become a predator in this metropolis progress
we call it madness
take your pay cheque don't question this
everyone become a predator in this metropolis

How many people sleeping outside?
how many new apartments still unoccupied?
subdivide and conquer, sunlight a commodity
soon even public parks will charge an entry fee
so we sign our names
walk between the lines, pay their fines
play their games, smother the small joys
the busker can't compete with traffic and construction noise
so the ibis and the crow tried to start an uprising
they plotted revolution in overgrown, forgotten corners of suburbia
moonlit macadamia meetings beside tangled creeks
DIY philosophical zines distributed to Indooroopilly fruit bats in the hopes of fertilising a few rooftop guerrilla garden beds
but the storm-soaked kindling failed to ignite

Riverside mansions sit quiet and lifeless
riverside mansions sit quiet and lifeless
riverside mansions sit quiet and lifeless
tinted windows and tinted minds
KPIs and selection criteria
air-conditioners and fluoro lights
Coro Drive car fumes, river bacteria
blood on the concrete from Wickham St fights
the city is a paradise, the city is a sleeping pill
melting bitumen keeps us on our toes
we count the cranes from the top of Highgate Hill
profiteers count their dough

They call it progress
we call it madness
take your pay cheque don't question this
everyone become a predator in this metropolis

debt coalesces like storm clouds
cracks in the concrete, cracks in the concrete

The city is our slave and our master
maybe this is Stockholm syndrome
heat-struck Gympie Road cyclists inhale too much smog and hallucinate fantasies of New Farm home ownership
better file a request to work more overtime
the bank offers 30-year loans now
radicals want change, but don't know what it looks like
sun-bleached petitions, long way from a rent strike
Eagle Street towers chew you up and spit you out
weighed down by debt and self-doubt
the crow and the ibis, burnt-out revolutionaries
lone voices in the concrete wasteland
they lost hope and found jobs in the bureaucracy
seeking salvation from invisible hands
maybe one day we'll live and work in little concrete boxes
while the poor people drown
intercom security and six foot fences
money talks on the streets of your town
maybe Brissie isn't ready for revolution
last train home leaves at five past midnight
we seek a subtler, deeper rebellion
we'll be the moth and the candle-light

They call it progress
we call it madness
take your pay cheque don't question this
everyone become a predator
they call it progress
we call it madness
take your pay cheque don't question this
everyone become a predator in this metropolis

[Interlude]

Vocabularies of dissidence and rebellion pass from one generation to the next encoded in subterranean spray paint on the walls of stormwater drains
far beyond the reach of the city council graffiti squad
but down in the stagnant air of the concrete tunnels
deeper questions linger...
how can we denizens who seek a better world claim the right to transfigure and recreate this city while the gears of colonisation still turn relentlessly?