 Born of England, but I'm your adopted son if you'll have me. 13 years here held in place by New Zealand gravity, it's down to earth. We're the second verse, the anthems yet unwritten, the youngest the country smitten in the throes of a first love affair, with all that which grows and all those who care, an in refracted glare of sunlight through water, in a history in which we are all the authors, because we are Bucketbongs and Bob Marley songs along the peninsula of the Coromandel, we're politicians and jandals in a nation of vandals committed to tearing apart these old world standards and we are Alpine climbs and street corner rhymes, amulbra wines tied up in a long stranded coastline that entwines us, binds us, defines us as, sanity in a world steadily going mad, questions less, press and found inside beer bottle caps, if you read between the fault lines on the map you find us attached to the edge of the earth, the sky impregnated the sea and to us they gave birth because we are more the squat cage unless the bench press as I need to impress isn't to the same extent that we need strong legs to carry us onwards and upwards we're a nation that crests mountains, in hillary steps New Zealand is never land to the lost boys of England and Scotland and Ireland, she's a foster mother, we are Australia's younger better looking brother, the pacific's best kept secret beneath cloud cover and we are the blood of colonial adventurers and warrior tribes, runs through our veins on the inside which is why we glide through world cut games big guys punching well above their weight and it would be faker me to pretend I understand rugby but even I can see the majesty in the 1995 trial and Jonah ran through an entire side like a bullet from a gun leaving English fullbacks shocked and stunned to fear New Zealand four years to come to fear the speed at which big men run, revere the seeds that we sprung from, fear the fire the first men stole from the sun because we are long days after hard nights, handshakes after fist fights despite losing our guys in 1915 we built monuments to Ataturk because we respect him, that sportsmanship to the greatest degree between the Aegean and the Black Sea, we made an ally out of an old enemy, this nation bled for its place in the world willingly as the Turk baptized in fire the Kiwi and we are history and ink on shoulders cracks and boulders old and written scrolls or hobbit holes or severed stumps of flag poles we coast the west coast on a half tank and a spare tire we patch up broken hearts with duct tape and number eight wire and we leave Londoners wondering what on earth's up because we're saying thank you from the back of the bus and covering absolutely everything in tons of ketchup there's a side of love on our bit of rough but this is a nation that's taught me to be blunt we are little boys from Otra without a pat lunch so let's share this slice of heaven before we consume so these words are safe and stay true to the tune as we are pretty clear on what's good and evil don't send our soldiers overseas to go and hurt people instead our army as students with spades in Christ church cathedral a million hands outstretched to protect the feeble speaking of broken steeples as a people we rebuild equal if not greater than it was before because our history is more than broken buildings anyway our history is built in the people who survive in the remains often our claim is to have had the world and the woman's vote in 1893 not trying to rock the boat but it was backfiring policy of Richard Seddon caused that accidentally they don't forget decades of protest by shepherd and her contemporaries that's beautiful to me achieving perfection unintentionally like it's meant to be like the currents in the sea that carried coupe to land on an Artea rower beach and build our foundations and evergreen trees as we are parents who fought apartheid grandparents who defied social norms great grandparents who died on the beaches of Gallipoli against machine guns and dysentery for the better world I think we now define that's right that's pride that shines like the beacons are gone door I've been yonder too long and it's when you're gone you remember what's on these shores but I'm back now strong drop my backpack at the door because these islands are worth crossing oceans for