this land

i heard someone make a speech on tv the other day. it went something like this:

"what do you want to know? is this what you're looking for? have you found it yet? because it's every cliche you expect and nothing you would have ever imagined.

what is it that you are looking for? it's an island. it's a mountain. it's a busy city. it's tea without milk. it's coffee with sugar. it's a donut shop that serve noodles. it's neon lights and endless suits. it's hot baths. it's thousands of metal balls tumbling through a machine. it's words you don't know. it's people you can't talk to. it's a dozen smiley faces. it's puke on a bench. it's an old man asleep in a doorway. it's a handbag made in italy and olive oil imported from spain.

what is it that you want? it's schoolgirls in short skirts and long socks. it's boys with mirrors. it's a sigh, cry and hungry kiss. it's a whisper in the wind and laughter with the moon. it's bikes with baskets and bells that never stop ringing. it's holding hands. it's blusher with lipstick. it's a trim with wax. it's rows of games that flash and rattle. it's ancient feet and pleasant lands. it's burning bows of gold. it's flesh coloured prizes that glow in the dark. it's a crying girl you don't understand. it's the price you pay and the vows you break.

have you found what you're looking for? it's an unopened letter, an unwritten book, an unsigned card, an unread email. it's people you will never meet, foods you will never eat, films you will never see, the person you will never be. it's the book you will never read, the ambition you will never feed.

it's that time you played with fire and set yourself alight; that time you flew from that 13th floor and died. the time you bit you tongue, words better left unsaid. that time you ripped it all up and left it for dead.

it's the burning tyger on top of the hill and all your problems written on a stamp. it's every numbered grain of sand that's blowing in the wind and the eagle on the cragged cliff. it's the vagabond in your old clothes; and he's laughing at you.

it's the cracking smashing window of the motorcade; the dallas bullet, the grassy shade. it's every unfunny joke you ever told and every friend you ever sold. it's all the money that you've ever earned and all the lessons you've never learned.

it's the last syllable of recorded time. it's days of summer, the salad days of our wasted youth. it's the fire, the burning fire; the light, the infinite light; the beat, the unrelenting beat; it's the wheel that turns and turns. it's the clock that rings and the part that sings. time held me green and dying though i sang in my chains like the sea."

i think he stole some lines from somewhere.