Raiders, invaders, you ran your sheep and cattle across our sacred land, built sheds upon our bora grounds and kept us from our past.
Wiradjuri we, born free to die as you please. You spread your disease, you rape and you maim, you plunder and poison and pass us the blame.
Windradyne raised his spears and his men took war into your new white homes; you couldn't find us, you who are blind, you killed our women and children instead. You made a sport of Wiradjuri murder, baited our hungry, slaughtered our young, buried it all in a mountain of lies.
Cudgegong cries as Wiradjuri die and Windradyne yields so the ploughing of fields may continue til all the corpses have gone