After the Rush Hour

I am the small town linesman
And you’ll find me out here on the line
Searching ceaselessly to simply
Find a place I can call mine
Every corner of this country
Criss-crossed out with coloured lines
The city lies before me
Another city sprawling out behind
I am a frontiersman
Trapped in suburban England
Since the Scramble ended
Since the West was won with wagon trails
It seems the Mazzini’s paradisiacal
Panopticon prevailed
My walkabouts no longer take me
Beyond a choice of different gaols
Why should I have to choose a state
When every one of them has failed?
I am a frontiersman
Trapped in suburban England
And I promise not to overthrow the state
If allowed to redraw the atlas before
I emigrate
So I have sailed the seven seas alone
Trying to find a shore I can call home
But all I found are different flags
Double-speaking diplomats, and
I do not have time for that
So I’ll declare my own sovereign state
The borders based on the
Bottoms of my boots
And I will open embassies
Wherever the hell I please
And at assemblies
You will see me sat
But never on my knees
I am a frontiersman
Trapped in suburban England
And I promise not to overthrow the state
If allowed to redraw the atlas before
I emigrate
And I’d gladly leave your
Metternich’s alone as long as where
I lay my head I can be my very own
I am the Winchester lineman
I am a frontiersman
Trapped in suburban England
But here I will not remain-
I’ll ride into the sunset
My horse waits on the plain
And I keep walking the line