Slant

Pity the boy in front of me
He was only 16
Lifted up my axe then down
Split his head like a cord of wood

Not for me the huon pine
Not for me the ankle iron
A'resting in the rope'll do me fine

So they sent me down to Bellerive
Strung me up to my relief
I was just a petty thief
Of no account, no import

Send my love to my sister
In the Female Factory
Remind her of the day
When we drank wine

May a slant of winter light
Break upon my stone before the night
Ushers in the chill
I have no sight, I have no sight

But did they pave the streets of Hobart town?
Lop the old wood forests down?
For the press of King and Crown
For honey? Milk and honey?
My arse