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Crying on a plane to New York, New York, 

No permit to work nor play,

Green card, did you get a green card?

It’s only a short stay


Traveling alone, 

Fans flames,

Smokeless, smouldering,

I depart without declaration 


Almost feeling I could become someone,

Except for the hem of my skirt’s undone,

Achilles heel, a clumsy hole,

Somebody stop me baring my soul  


Guilt-ridden, provoking, 

One part my mother with the favour-prompting,

Stranger prodding to see how things feel,

Just out of sight


I’m perfecting imperfection,

That’s what I tell myself, 

I tell myself that there is nobody else


Steward’s a sleaze, lives in Queens, 

Aims to please, to meet his kind of girl; 

See the World,

Travel by token air-fares 


Now I lie on a gay friend’s sofa,

Shakespeare’s cuckold throws a blanket over,

My many Manhattans, tourist whims,

Meat-packing district, my Chelsea mourning


He takes us out for hard-boiled eggs, 

Salt-beef bagel, oh he’s got good legs,

But the whiskey comes up, rain pours down,

There’s no real cure in this grid-locked town


I’m perfecting imperfection 

That’s what I tell myself, 

I tell myself that there is nobody else


I’m perfecting imperfection,

That’s what I’ll tell them when,

The flights are flown, 

The men are all kissed,

When there’s nowhere left to yearn


Still I feel the edge of a shell breaking,

Not sure whose, sure I’m not faking,

When was my Lord so un-gently tempered,

Stopped his ears with my lack of repentance


My lack of repentance,

My lack of repentance

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