This is truly home - these smokey streets,
This language in such overbearing colour,
All drips paintwise each brick in view,
And there my people, there! What love,
The time is ever too brief but so it ever goes.

Returning home, adventures had,
Oh how the evening is to every day,
A lover at the journey's end,
A warm hearth familiar and its scent,
A bed to fall upon and sleep.

Where is here?
A place in space,
A step in time,
A still small house by rolling fields,
A wooden frame,
A seated mind,
A world unto itself that introspects,
But I am here,
This... I cannot deny,
I'll crystallise this moment now,
For another moment then.

Broken shoe,
Unbridled joy,
A little less serious,
A little less 'mysterious'.

O broken shoe,
How does it feel,
To peel back and flop,
To break and kneel,

To be tread on,
Yet yield,
And support my weighty soles,
Through mire and field?

O broken shoe,
Unbridled joy,
I take myself a little less
Serious...
Maybe a little glue will hold you together?