 
 
       To the home I was born 
 Where the trees grew tall 
 And the kookaburras laughed late 
 Lay the road that lead everywhere 
 And the road that lead nowhere 
 To the west, the bush 
 To the east, the brush 
 East I went 
 No longer am I lost 
 
 You were once a prison 
 Now, my sanctuary 
 Forgive me, for I will miss you.
       
 
  
          You will be but another page in my sketchbook. 
 I will be cleaning my studio in 20 years time, and I will happen upon you again. 
 Again, that memory will come alive.