Port Moresby stretched out before me;
Resplendent, glorious, magical
And gleaming in the tropical sun.
But my heart weeps for this jungle
Of glass and steel skeletons;
A city of cock-tail parties,
Home-brew for all the street boys
And spak-brus for the drug-bodies.
When the sun comes sailing down
I see the blue van patrolling around
And out in the city’s streets
A silhouetted figure is asking
For one kina