The stars are out 
and you know the way 
- Piccadilly, Rusholme,
Withington, Wythenshawe. 
These are names that could
freeze your soul in blue
and maybe light a candle
in the dark if you could 
only find a spark.
Every building is an open door,
every street an absent flower
that unknown gods collected 
long ago when it was raining. 
This is England - a promise. 
I tell myself - there is a plan. 
Just follow through, 
be yourself, smile under
this weird constellation and
expect the unexpected;
what you want will happen,
it's just probability 
and probability is 
always on your side
when you are in Manchester.