not talk

about my country How
I'm from an optimistic culture

that speaks louder than my passport
Don't double-agent-contra my

invincible innocence I've
got my own

suspicions Let's
order retsina

cracked olives and bread
I've got questions of my own but

let's give a little
let's let a little be

If friendship is not a tragedy
if it's a mercy

we can be merciful
if it's just escape
we're neither of us running
why otherwise be here

Too many reasons not
to waste a rainy evening

in a backroom of bouzouki
and kitchen Greek

I've got questions of my own but
let's let it be a little

There's a beat in my head
song of my country

called Happiness, U.S.A.
Drowns out bouzouki

drowns out world and fusion
with its Get—get—get

into your happiness before
happiness pulls away

hangs a left along the piney shore
weaves a hand at you—"one I adore"—
Don't be proud, run hard for that
enchantment boat

tear up the shore if you must but
get into your happiness because

before
and otherwise
it's going to pull away

So tell me later
what I know already

and what I don't get
yet save for another day

Tell me this time
what you are going through

travelling the Metropolitan
Express

break out of that style
give me your smile
awhile