He Snowscape Paperweight Girl

You had your body pierced in Naples

Found patron saints in Rome

Your Buddha, brought back from Bangkok

Now hides your runic stones

And your star of David, crucified

In a pendant you made from bones

Your hindi music's on the hifi

And your Muslim's on the phone

In this place you now call home

Still you take your clothes off slowly

To stoned messiah's tomes

Your mirror ball retro-flits

Your postered bed-sit wall

You pray for all life can bring you

It's like you're praying for us all

Your tarot spoke of a stranger

Your I-Ching of a girl unknown

In this place you now call home

You bleed for the bait life feeds you

But still you want to swallow whole

As the stoned messiahs prophesy

It's like hot wires to your soul.

Like a bible that's holding your life up

It's a window to your world

As the camera pans out from the lap top

We watch your world grow small

As snowflakes swirl, In a ticker-tape snowscape,

Fade out on a paperweight and a golden girl

Turning soul cards with retsina

Which you pour like sacred scrolls

Kneeling naked at the altar

Where your patchwork quilt enfolds

Now it's hindi music's on the hifi

And a sufi on the phone

As the dance becomes your own reality

It's time that I was going

From this place you now call home

Don't hang up, don't hang up, dont hang up...