It's all true you know, a stone to clean your face with
Real, like snow in your hand
A Gasmask, a Chrysanthemum, Thatcher, Major, Blair
A city to tattoo on your foot
                                         to demand that it stay there, that it stop
 
Breathing, that the nation is a dogma, we know
Whose voice it is that whispers
And fills the room when we sleep, we know
We know where to look, inside honey inside boulder
For the exact relationship between kisses and politics
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                       (and my country
                                                                       that has never existed
 
                                                                       was not strong enough to invent itself)