Darling, have we reached perfection?
The pinnacle, the peak
Our hearts and minds fully aligned
No need to utter a word to be heard

Darling, can I call you mine?
Your name, eternally on my lips
Satisfied each day with your presence
I'll guard your heart from pain

Darling, can I be your lover?
It began with a touch of your hand
Now I'm aroused by the rest of you
Continuing to quench desires thirst

Darling, how can I resist your beauty?
Your eyes, they smile at me, I'm crushed
Lips of silk, work their magic
Hypnotic curves, lead me astray

Darling, can you stay?
With me till my last breath
Our story, it's not yet finished ...

... Darling, can you stay?

Land of the free
Home of the brave
From sea to shining sea
In between golden waves

From the fields farmers plant
Across the vast Mid-West
In this Americana Panorama

Northern cities touching sky
Scrapers lighting up the night
As the Carolina shore
Echos back the oceans roar

Along the Texas plains
Where freedom loves to sing
In this Americana Panorama

With the Grand Canyons openness
To Alaska's wilderness
The mountains majesty
Powerful in its reach

In all the time that's spent
There's no other way to live
In this Americana Panorama

The colorful blue fescue
On a Kentucky afternoon
Under a Live Oak tree
With Spanish moss as company

To the California sunset
Being the last thing said
In this Americana Panorama

I wake in this city
This city that didn't bear me
This city that didn't raise me
And yet it's this city that i seek to find something of me
Not in the pubs or the clubs or the karaoke bars
Where revelers conspire to dream and drink to the stars
Nor the cafes where poets and artists in a foreign language create.
Pass the market stalls where secondhand books and vinyls are stacked like freight
It is to the quietened streets of the old town I go
Where i long for the walls to speak once more
To reveal their hidden histories
To help fashion some sense of a man
One unknownst to me, my fathers father whose name I share
A fine skilled seamster, thus a tailor by trade
Not arriving to this city for work on fabrics of nylon and silk
But to stitch and sew the flesh of limbs in a paramedic corps
Another pawn of the Great War under King George's command
Driven only by economic necessity from a penal homeland
Not of conscription, politics or some moral conviction at play
For the price of neutrality is one that poverty simply refuses to pay
Returning home to an Ireland of hostility or silence at best
Medals now lying deep in pockets not proudly pinned to chests
Irish heroes don't fight in a British war for a King's crown
No such stories from father to son shall ever pass down
And now, a grainy photograph, three medals for a sons son to take
A dog tag that bears my name, a number and RC to depict a faith
From a man exiled in his home as a forgotten prisoner of war
To honour a legacy i find myself in this city afar
Asking the same questions of him as to me
Is this city the last place he truly felt free?