Gumpi Ferry Terminal Trip

Lyrics

I strolled into Goompi Hall, map board shining fake gold,
Sixteen tidy circles, consultants already sold.
No LiDAR, no depths, just a Pinterest slice,
“public have your say” while they cut the cheque for mates.
We’re island kids on sandy cliffs, we smell the mainland tricks,
They toss us vague artistic renders like bait on rusty sticks.
Better keep receipts,
we’re all playin’ for keeps

Give us the point cloud, baby, give us the raw,
Let the sand-born mind go ripping through the data’s open door.
We’ll dream a jetty made of sunlight, cast in local stone,
’Cause sovereignty is software that we’re meant to own.

Forty-one million dollars riding shotgun in the swell,
Treasury rules in briefcases, consultants’ carousel.
Queensland TMR stamps forms in air-con grace,
But the island’s still car-park-choking, rusting in its place.
We’re sick of “artist’s concept” hung like washing in the breeze,
While knowledge packs a suitcase and disappears with ease.
If the contract buys a drawing yet leaves the hard drives blank,
That’s just another ferry load of future in the bank.

Give us the point cloud, baby, give us the raw,
Let the reef-edge kids compile a plan they’ve never seen before.
We’ll brew a terminal of oysters, drones and wild sea foam,
’Cause capability that stays here turns a jetty into home.

Check the usual loop—money raised, mainland raids,
Survey trucks roll out, island promise fades.
Files locked tight in Brisbane lofts, we see it every year,
Consultants drive their Teslas off and leave us souvenirs.
But flip that script: open data day one, no delay,
Local elders high-school coders, a digital corroboree.
Print the building block in bio-sand, laser-cut the rails,
Carve a climate-ready terminal to lift up in heavy gales.

Give us the point cloud, baby, give us the raw,
Show the buildings and the data  like you’ve never done before.
We’ll sculpt a canopy of eucalyptus and shared dreams,
’Cause learning new skills… is how the mob will grow.

Maker-shed hums at midnight, robots pouring sand dune blocks,
Geo-polymer-crete with quick-fit inter-locks.
Straddie noticeboards light up, gossip, grants and gigs,
Kids remix event timetables with heavy beats A.V. rigs.
Legal workbench chews the fine-print stew,
Spits plain-English answers any fisherman can view.
Ready-Set co-ops labour so the profits loop around,
Mums and aunties share the code—future local, future sound.

Give us the point cloud, baby, give us the raw,
Let procurement write a clause that our grandkids can adore.
We’ll narrate from sand to ocean foam,
’Cause data seeds a freedom chromosome.

Cross River Rail to Inland tracks the pattern’s crystal clear,
Lock files, dodge eyes, sell the answer, disappear.
Brisbane 2032 will splash Olympic rings,
If the island gets the toolkit we’ll invent our own wings.
Sand batteries under footpaths store the midday shine,
Autonomous cars dodgin’ wildlife every time.
Subterranean tunnels keep the surface calm,
Wave-reef power bass-line, a psychic healing psalm.

Give us the point cloud, baby, give us the raw,
Let Minjerribaa write verses that the budget can’t ignore.
We’ll weave a jetty jazz of culture, tech and chrome,
’Cause Straddie is a fractal, every atom finds a home.

Public dollars must create more local skills
that’s the law of tidal maths, and a fair go bro
“Capability transfer or bust.”
The crowd chants Fair Go, the server uploads truth,
The government says, here’s your data bro.

Give us the point cloud, baby, give us the raw,
No more beige future like a discount furniture store.
From Quandamooka sunrise to sunset’s last glow,
We’ll 3-D-print tomorrow with the data you let flow.

Give us the point cloud, darling, give us the keys,
Let the island hack the blueprint of its infrastructural dreams.
Open files, open minds, open hearts on the shore
When knowledge grows at home the island’s rich forevermore.