When I make it big,
I will take my friends with me.
We will drink beer like tap water
and walk the parade into town,
a gallery of sun-glass women
in floral dresses
and old men smoking shisha
outside the beach-front bars.

When I make it big,
I will stop writing letters pleading
to be fixed. I will smile at the waitress
as she brings over my coffee
and talk to new faces
about the cost of living,
the price of success,
and the limited budget of death.'

When I make it big,
I will wear my depression
like a badge of honour.
Sitting on the park bench
where I nearly lost my life,
I will press my soles into the grass
and with exhausted tears I will know
that I have never felt more alive.

When I make it big,
perhaps this town will not seem so small.
I will erase guilt from memories,
left with a clearer image
of old faces and buildings,
recalling all of the elements
that have created me.
When I make it big

I will find a brave knowledge.
I will know that if I fall to pieces,
I can put myself back together again.