So good when you are your own master
and you don’t belong to anyone.
So good when you can move faster
and leave behind everyone.
So good when you hold on and retrieve
even if you wish to survive
just to have a last laugh and leave
and become another bee in another hive.
So good when you’ve grown older
and no one orders you around
nevermind if you’ve also grown colder
as it makes you gloriously unbound.
So good when you are a tough lad,
when you can fight for your life,
when all the doors are tightly shut,
when you can freely pull the knife,
when you exclusive and grand,
when you not just a face in the crowd,
when you are your own brand,
when you are independent and proud.
So good when you afford business class
but you fly with the ordinary people
you think that it makes you so middle-class,
that it units you with the other people.
So good when no one knows you for real,
your real name, your insomnia habit
your fear of not fitting the ideal
or losing your favourite foot of a rabbit.
So good when no one sees you dream,
when you are a long-distance runner,
when no one knows what you mean,
when you are your own lover.
When you obey just the law of gravity,
when you always do what you should
when you are on guard of your sanity —
it’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good.



You are my undiscovered island,
my sweet left-over pie.
You are my petty, but independent Ireland,
you are my most sincere lie.
You are my biggest step to normality,
my study devoid of manuals.
You are my Hollywood style banality,
my second-hand, rusty jewels
You are my most exciting sort of boredom,
my hot, dusty freight.
You are my Sodom.
My contender and my mate.

You are my morning newspaper
and a smudged tattoo and a faded caper.
You are my America.