city of tiny demons, city where money dwells, histories a weeping for the city that never tells. streets of ancient secrets, the roads may lead to rome, but one thing is certain my darling, i'm heading home, back to the sun and the blue skies, back to the bush and the cane, over poseidon sleeping and not to return again.
ah it's good to be here, back home in australia doing my thing, pottering around playing in the gardens and sandy expanses, watching crashing waves as surfers wipe out. 
it's the edge of the world here in no man's land, it's remote and isolated but it's unspoilt and beautiful, wild and unconquerable.
i'm at peace here, on the edge of the treelines, the ocean crash, amongst the reptilian agendas, laying in the sun, smoking my spliff, being still.
there's no chaos here, there's a vast difference between being hacked to death and having your head cut off by an angry idiot in broad daylight than being eaten by a shark or bitten by a snake. give me the fabric of nature, the mesmerising cloud display as light fractures itself through water, the strange stormy veils that cruise in as the pressure changes each evening. home is where the heart is, and mine is here, in australia, in nature and the frontier territory, speaking to the shaman within me, yeah all that city interference fucks you up, clogs the brains neural pathways with junk. yeah you can keep all that city vibe for the perplexed, the distracted. the generation of detached. 
me i'm plugged into something real and it's plugged into me.