read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers i can t take it y all i can feel the city breathing chest heaving against the flesh of the evening it s deep i heard the city breathe in its sleep read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers i can t take it y all i can feel the city breathing chest heaving against the flesh of the evening it s deep i heard the city breathe in its sleep read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers i can t take it y all i can feel the city breathing chest heaving against the flesh of the evening it s deep i heard the city breathe in its sleep can you feel the change in the air i never could took a second look now i see it everywhere today moving so fast becomes yesteryear and if you can t keep up well then you disappear i see the lonely old buildings round my way slowly fall into a state of disrepair then the real estate buy it up sell it off knock it down then it s gone like it was never there does anybody care wood brickwork and steel laid bare like the city s broken bones exposed to the open air and there i am the heir apparent surveying the damage as my neighbourhood vanishes without a trace an unsolved mystery whole decades erased instantly no room for sympathy in the pursuit of efficiency the legacy of a colonial dynasty in a city still growing out it s infancy built on invasion displacement and misery foundations laid by blood sweat and industry of convicts inspired by aspirations of liberty before that history goes to the grave i listen close to the whispers of the ghosts of yesterday from beneath the coats of paint they speak empty shop fronts the faded evidence of a generation s dreams  and on a still night if you listen close you can still hear the whispers of the ghosts seek it out and you ll find that it s all around you the sound of that which was handed down and on a still night if you listen close you can still hear the whispers of the ghosts know where we ve been to grasp where we re headed looking at the past from the present and on a still night if you listen close you can still hear the whispers of the ghosts i can t take it y all i can feel the city breathing chest heaving against the flesh of the evening read my palm and see the evil of my forefathers now the signs in the street say for lease and for sale an invitation to dream a reminder of those who failed a long way from land grants rations and dirt trails disillusionment s still in fashion in new south wales rusted iron rubble and chipped paint signs of urban decay in a withered landscape i see it everyday the heritage fades gentrification nothing s gonna get in the way of this concept that we call progress locked in a contest with our superiority complex monuments to man s dominance are the imagery scaffolding sketches out the blueprints of visionaries in a city still growing out it s infancy built on invasion displacement and bigotry foundations laid by cold blooded killing sprees severed heads sent back on ships for the king to see before that history goes to the grave i listen close to the whispers of the ghosts of yesterday from beneath the coats of paint they speak empty shop fronts the faded evidence of a generation s dreams i stay playing these beats on the same train platform that lawson waited on watching faces in the street except that somehow the scene appears differently soaked under the cold pale glow of electricity so before that history goes to the grave i listen close to the whispers of the ghosts of yesterday from beneath the coats of paint they speak empty shop fronts the faded evidence of a generation s dreams but i know this city i ve felt its heart beat watched the life breathe through the cracks in the concrete where it stops is beyond me and on a still night if you listen close you can still hear the whispers of the ghosts seek it out and you ll find that it s all around you the sound of that which was handed down and on a still night if you listen close you can still hear the whispers of the ghosts know where we ve been to grasp where we re headed looking at the past from the present3