I awoke to everyone's favourite
The scent of new-mown gra**
I knew I'd been here and almost everywhere else before
But the shape of your youthful a**
Heading for the shower
Was a sign, a surely beneficial spell
Though all the ingredients were artificial
Brewed in some factory in the Mid-west
By mild-mannered family men
Oh it seemed so real
Your gaze like a charm of the way I'd feel
Your touch on my departing arm, my body flown
TO be buried in damp, dark England
My time capsule containing your fake I.D. ghost
And it's rained here, like God's open bar
His treat to the old-world soil
Where you are, the fake the rain
Import it like the electricity that still fails
And in your unlikely darkness, how can we tell what's real?
You'd swear that cranberry shade was artificial
But it's really cochineal
So kiss my eyes to the sound of a million dying insects
Shut my eyes to the sweet remembered s** & all
Ignore my calls but write me a note
Write my valediction, and I hear a voice
So loving and so personal
And I stretch out on the new-mown gra**
And I breathe in