You had your body pierced in Naples
Found patron saints in Rome
Your Buddha, brought back from Bangkok
Now hides [bad word] stones
And your star of David, [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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...