My partner and I are both currently locked up down here in Tasmania. Your newspaper has been a huge hit in both the women's and the men's prisons, so I thought I'd send you something from both of us.

When in jail some don’t want to go home, it’s true. Hard to believe, so I will find out more for you. Are the dudes for real, or a screw loose in the head. They would rather stay in jail, than going home instead.

The voice is beautiful; my lungs fill with a relieved gasp. I expected a prison sentence. A feeling of chest tightening, breath weak, metal and voices. A life of strip searches and beatings.

The woman of my dreams; she isn’t there. The woman of my dreams; she doesn’t care. The woman of my dreams; she isn’t real. The woman of my dreams knows not how I feel.

Behind cement walls and razor wire, I can see a tall tree – swaying in the breeze it reminds me, the day I’ll be free. Then in come the birds from out of that tree, I watch these birds with envy and I wish it was me.

A wee bit of heaven, drifted down from above. A handful of happiness, a heart full of love. The mystery of life, so sacred and sweet, the giver of joy, so deep and complete. Priceless and precious, so loveable, too – the world’s sweetest miracle, baby doll, is you!

Our faces are seen above uniforms of green, we parade in this prison, all shaven clean. "Another day in paradise", we sarcastically wink, "we fake it till we make it", we tell our shrink.

Outside these prison walls exists real life, going daily about their business in haste. The hustle and bustle, too busy to stop, lives synchronised, and no time to waste.

Obey you must O’feeable citizen, do you dare to cross the line?

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Oh how I can’t stand these nights alone, wishing that I could just go home. Never thought this is where I’d be, constantly dreaming of being free.