The Deaths Go On

Words by Peter Kearney - Music by Kerry Fletcher

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the Deaths Go On

Eddie Murray was drinking that night into day
The police picked him up and they took him away
Just one hour later he was dead in his cell
He took his own life- so police records tell.
And he's gone, gone, gone
And the deaths go on
The dying of two hundred years.

And how must it feel to be black in this land?
Too much of the power is in the white hand?
And the hand can suddenly turn to a fist
When you're no-one and nothing,
you'll hardly be missed.
When you're gone, gone, gone
And the deaths go on
The dying of two hundred years.

Robert Walker was lowered and beaten in hell.
In Broome, Dixon Green, 'dropped dead' in his cell.
John Pat in Roeburn was kicked to the ground,
They cleaned up his body, then the doctor came round.
And he's gone, gone, gone
And the deaths go on
The dying of two hundred years.

The Coroner spoke from his smooth, white face
'Death by Misadventure', the usual case.
Charlie Michael was bent like a bow on the floor
Till his heart just snapped, couldn't take any more.
And he's gone, gone, gone
And the deaths go on
The dying of two hundred years.

photo AAP: James Gourley