The gods have made me keeper of the song
that made these Dreamtime stones you walk among:
ignore the words, but understand the tune.
My Dreaming lives upon this heated air
(Wonambi’s constant breath), so, if you dare,
set down your culture, which you know so well,
and look with new-found eyes where spirits dwell.
Behold the many heads and bodies strewn
about; the blood that time has turned to dust,
and come here, tourists—come here if you must!
The rainbow you may see when you awake
seems odd; and then it turns into the Snake
that takes your ravaged soul beyond the moon.
Ignore these words, but understand the tune.