A curious accident of birth, it seems

bizarre,

and all my days I limp and trip in sensible shoes

that never did fit;

I breathe a foreign air, I cry too much, I sing

for goodness sake

there’s something broken here, for sure

and yet I sip my tea and sigh…

and if those feet (in ancient times) did head this way, I guess

the press would scream of immigrants and yes, and yes

it would appear that hatred has become the song we sing

but I can’t (I can’t) and so I won’t, but still I sip my tea

and still I love to climb – the occasional hill,

like fremington edge

and we descended fast, unsteady

like an MEP entwined in irony, unsure

if he’s the joker or the just the joke

but I love the view, and this is home (I guess)

and here I fell in love

and so I’m glad I didn’t stay away

but there were days when I woke to a brighter light

and I called another land home, you know

and so

yeah so

oh sceptered-bloody-isle

tell me why I should hoist your flag

the dreaded red and white that sings

of naught but pride and hate

and loss

so why

yeah why should I

who’s heart was won by love and grace

disgrace myself and sing your song

and say that I am yours?

and yet I sip my tea and wince

embarrassed once again

word-perfect in blackadder

and I like to take the piss

especially out of me

no there is no nation here just fragments

<I could love you but you go too far>

for kindness is a call and you forget

and you have failed

to love the weak

and poor

and I cannot forget

but I would forgive if only you would learn

to sing another song;

and I could

happily

burn you down and watch you fall

I would not shed a tear

but instead I sip my tea

the dregs remain, lukewarm and weak

they never were superior, you know

an accident of birth

or history is all, humility is more

important than you think

and so I drink

my tea

and sit; and still the shoes don’t fit