Roots down, roots down, roots down, roots down
my heart's buried deep under Brisbane town
creek beds, hilltops, riding around
cracking macadamia and putting roots down

I am of this city
its history is my history
my scraped knee and my favourite tree
and swimming lessons in the pool at Craigslea Primary
and Oxley's expedition back in 1823
and our year 4 excursion to Saint Helena Island
and those weather-worn tennis balls that we were always finding
and the floods of 1974
and the invasion of 1788
and the park on the north side where I rode without training wheels for the first time
and the frog pond of drowning Christmas beetles
and Joh Bjelke-Petersen
and hunting Easter eggs in the backyard
and hunting kangaroos by Breakfast Creek
and the roller coaster at the top of the Myer Centre that looked like a dragon and screamed at the madness beneath

Roots down, roots down, this town, roots down
my roots are tendrils
tentacles
reaching down below
splitting concrete and bitumen
digging in

The soil is soft after summer storms
and the roots grow quickly
thickly
but Brisbane's burbs are built on clay
so once they're down
they're down to stay

Roots down, roots down
brushtail growl
hear that sound

But now and then in this circus I encounter a clown
who thinks that because he's got his roots in the ground
he somehow gains the right to define this town
and decide who else gets to put roots down
see the surface seems sufficiently serene
but if you peel back the bandaid you’ll see the gangrene

And now I see you've forgotten
I see your roots are rotten
but this garden has no gardener
that's how we got to where we've gotten
the question on my mind is where we going?
this city is growing
sauropod construction cranes on every horizon
jackhammer clattering drowns out the cicadas
the relentless march of apartment towers makes suburbanites nervous
so they build higher fences
and mow their lawns weekly

Roots down, stolen ground, dead trees, river brown

I know something's awry in this city
but I can't quite put my finger on it
it's like we've outgrown the garden bed
roots in a twist
slumbering suburbs
silence those who resist

Vision blurring
but now I hear them stirring
climb Mt Coot-tha at midnight
see them lighting candles and switching off TVs
flying foxes in the trees
stench of rotten mangoes
gives way to a cool south-easterly

Pumpkin vines wither and die
but the passionfruit keeps growing
skyscrapers sprouting up from the bedrock
Wivenhoe overflowing

Activists invade city hall
and the clock tower falls silent in anticipation

Change is coming to Brisbane town
we feel it in the soil
while we cracking macadamias and putting roots down