See the paintings of the children, 
The dark children of this land,
Hear the stories of the dreamtime,
As these people take a stand,
And the children of this country,
They will not stand all alone,
I hear the footsteps of the children,
Comin' home.

Hear the flap-sticks keeping time,
As the dancers sway along,
Hear the elders tell their stories,
As they sing their tribal songs,
I see the children of this country,
They will not stand all alone,
I hear the footsteps of the children,
Comin' home.

The black flag with red and gold,
See the people march together,
Their native lands no longer sold,
I see the children of this country,
They will not stand all alone,
I hear the footsteps of the children,
Comin' home.

See the paintings of the children, 
The dark children of this land,
Hear the stories of the dreamtime,
As these people take a stand,
And the children of this country,
They will not stand all alone,
I hear the footsteps of the children,
Comin' home.
I hear the footsteps of the children,
Comin' home.