An Ode to South West Sydney

Walking with long faces
People inside sketching stranger's faces
Dark hooded beady eyes at the station
It's early Sunday morning

Cars circling around the block
Doors and windows bolted shut
Music imprisoned, home alone
Like a Sunday calling

The golden city's skyline can be seen
From a rise in the hill
In-between the trees
A convoluted road to Darling Harbour

Cheerily I stop to ask directions
Old resident asks my name and states his suspicion
I laugh and make my own way walking
It seems that smiles here too, are stolen