I’m not an iceblock. I’m not a teardrop, mooching around your Long Island Iced Tea. I’m not chasing dreams, dreaming of Jeannie; I’m not slowing for one more whistle stop. I’ve never bridged sighs, I don’t island hop; I’ve not tasted the free airs of Heaney, nor held a heart that, like some Houdini, didn’t vanish with a barbaric yawp. I’ve set no flame within love’s hearth that didn’t burn the shantytown down. At night I am king, come morning uncrowned- I walk in as Luke, am forced out as Darth. Rivers are rivers, regardless of flow: O, stone, be not so; O, stone, be not so.