Interventionists are coming interventionists are coming
the cries echo through the dusty community
as the army arrive in their chariots.

Parents and children race for the sand hills
burying the tommy axes and the rifela
hiding in abandoned cars
along the fence line.

One woman ran to the waterhole
hiding her baby in the reeds
dusting her footprints with gumleaf.

Other children went and got their cousin
shouting mum you gone rama rama
you should see the clinic.

That night the woman went back to the waterhole
leaving her child in the reeds again
this time in a basket.

In the morning the children return
holding their cousin crying
mum you gone rama rama
you should see the doctor.

At the clinic I feel her pulse
check her blood pressure
test for diabetes.

Staring deeply in my eyes
until finally our heads bent
she whispers quietly in Luritja

this son him name Moses.