Greatly have I been afflicted in my youth; When back in Sydney's dirty alleys I went astray; Greatly have drugs afflicted me in my aging; And still, they prevail against me.
The pushers pushed upon my back, into my face; They have made deep my face's furrows. The police have been, cutting me from them, the cords were cut, but not the craving.
And I, who’ve hated myself; Cannot put myself to shame enough; And turn myself backwards, and return to the vital me! Let me be like the grass on summer lawns, which hiss, then wither before dying off.
There is hope when there is no dead grass to fill the mower's basket; May I be less of my family's binder of arms; May I lose my battle against friends who pass me by; Who say I still have a name to be blessed.