Pity the boy in front of menHe was only 16,nLifted up my axe then down,nSplit his head like a cord of wood.nnNot for me the huon pine,nNot for me the ankle iron,nA'resting in the rope'll do me fine.nnSo they sent me down to Bellerive,nStrung me up to my relief,nI was just a petty thiefnOf no account, no import.nnSend my love to my sisternIn the Female Factory,nRemind her of the day when we drank wine.nnMay a slant of winter lightnBreak upon my stone before the nightnUshers in the chill,nI have no sight, I have no sight.nnBut did they pave the streets of Hobart town?nLop the old wood forests down?nFor the press of King and Crown,nFor honey? Milk and honey?nnMy arse.