America
He stood on the giant map of the United States thinking ...
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America
by Wolfgang Glinka
Poor old England,
Got at, shot at, down at heel.
The scruffy remains of another time.
Grimy, resentful, depressed,
What an age to live in,
To be young was very bliss.
Then that Summer of Discontent,
Harsh words, harsher thoughts,
Rich young financiers,
Suits are cool,
Wine the new beer,
Cash the new dream.
Young idealists learning to sneer.
Aggression is sexy
Hatred fun.
Climb up just to look down,
Splash on the cologne,
Block poverty’s stink.
Everything sent to your personal account,
Society’s army of one-man bands.
A world fit for heroes,
Eyes on their balls,
Under-invested in all the big things:
Hospitals, humanity, hope.
It was, they said, the American Dream,
Thatcherism meets Reaganomics,
A special relationship,
Changing the World.
Just a nice guy and an iron maid,
Having the time of their lives.
Then that first trip to American soil,
Big buildings, big hearts, and, yes, dreams.
America, Tower of Babel rebuilt,
Everything you want it to be.
Don’t blame it old England for the things that went wrong,
Just be wiser in what you admire.
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