white storm arrives
the twillies fly away tonight
goodbye back to sweden
the water was green and warm
the sand was yellow and damp
the glass was smooth and brown
the houses are grey with red roofs
n’talie plays the black ryder
i sit looking at all my pastels dumbly
my wrist is a little achey
i think of early days in rozelle
when it rained and i felt so alone
in an alien place
in the damp n horrible basement
which flooded
a thousand cockroaches floating in the murk
i took a bad trip n got on some wrong bus
i thought i was ten
or maybe i was eight again
in wollongong
i took the bus to the wollongong pool for swimming lessons
i pretended i could swim
but on the last day i couldnot swim
no no no
i stood on the side shaking my wet head
i wandered home defeated
summer storm n all
thunder cracks n everything
in rozelle the real estate had not yet boomed
my street was full of crazy old migrants and crims
my street was full of bodgies and widgies and ho-daddies
my street was full of puddles with oil shining on em in rainbows
my street had weird people with strange problems
i was the only norbal one
i was perfectly norbal do you hear
perfectly perfectly norbal
i took drugs and made music on my machine
but i was norbal all right
in old rozelle greasy and flea-ridden
old industrial sludgy muddy tar-y unstarry dump
lever and kitchen fallout
the locals were all half-sick leading their half-lives
and summer was an unbearable blast of concrete heat
amen