by David B. Johnson

My name is Vincent I'm the governor of this gaol
I have troubled dreams of which I don't understand
I want to be a good man, do the job the best I can
All for peace of mind

My name is Charlie I'm a captive of this gaol
I come from the dry north, hot desert plains
We were rounded up like horses and marched down in chains
Fifty days in a crowded cell
And then sent to this island of hell

Chorus:
To the island of chains
To the island of shame
To the island of unmarked graves

The men are restless I have the law to uphold
We must break their culture the motherland to uphold
So I have chained the ones who speak their language to a tree
All for big J.C.

It is 1830 and the winter is cold
Influenza has swept through here and taken its toll
One blanket issued on this stony cold floor
Fifty are no more, fifty are no more

Chorus:

Now this island is an island of play
There's not a memory of it's earlier days
There's a spa and pool where the hangings used to be
This is the hanging pool

Chorus: