Boney Bonny Dames and Old Money Games

Until I've seen, Melbourne days was not just emptiness in play I know I'll see What I didn't see, the September soaked symphony of Vivaldi vines climbing, jacaranda booms, tremolo spilling eaves Until you know this suburban kid's righted the wrong I'll verse on my way, you as the bridges in my song Making choruses of dreams that could soon belong And urban princes and their Porsches Lost in winters, cold in summers They adore to ornate you, over muskwood and glassy silvers But can they look up to the night, And know wonder in the sight? In that blue-hued veiled Van Gogh I see your stars These hardened hands carrying letters I send will wear me down to some sorry end And this I know But I'll go knowing the Chapel charade was the pretty noise of sonnets chasing sunsets, drunk Welsh poets tearing tails for London wisps Until it comes, a northern boy without southerly blues The swaying Yarrans, sparkling flutes, Victorian flues Keeps Flinders Station stepping full of over-priced shoes And boney bonny dames, old money games Skirts for winters, surgeons for gains They climb to lower you, for fifteen lights upon their names But can they look up to the night, And know wonder in the sight? In that blue-hued veiled Van Gogh I see your stars