It’s All Good Stuff
Hear the dozen tongues that trip
Around the top of ev’ry bus:
They’re London’s latest membership,
As once the immigrants were us.
Not whence we came, but chose to dwell
Is what defines our each success;
And though we are our past as well,
It comes to matter less and less.
We’re changing daily, ev’ryhow,
As our subconscious makes its choice;
So we belong to London now,
It’s in our eyes and in our voice.
