The Gertrude Contemporary crew

Head out to Preston

Blak Fitzroy long gone

White-collar types the norm 
They buy another white cube

To articulate their view

Down the 86-tram on High

With a striking fluorescent sign 
Asymmetrically dressed artists stare listlessly

Gathered on industrial concrete floors

Sculptural minimalism and half-finished interiors

Forever transformed by some object on a wall 
A row of empty clean skins and a couple of long necks

Clutter the bins as the crowd starts to leave

The grand opening soared

And an over eager intern is ready

To mop up the floor

On his hands and knees

As the curator heads home

Entangled in his new

Piece of sex on the side  
Marcus Westbury is doing his best

To save the others still trapped by Collingwood / Fitzroy’s housing gloom

He finds an old building

With a faded Keith Haring

And re-erects the vandalised walls
For all the white middle class

Still working in the arts

Dreaming of a new place

To mount their break out shows
So, I head home

To Truganini Rd

Not an artist in sight

Down the Cranbourne / Pakenham line
Just mum and me

Watching blonds on TV

With their television tits

And chemically straight hair

Talking shit in spiked heels

So effortlessly 
No culture around

On this side of town

Just the occasional dream of what used to be