I have often walked round these streets before,
but I’ve not so often dragged my weary feet before.
As I write this rhyme,
it’s the thousandth time
that I’ve walked round the streets where I live.
Oh the trees grow high in the heart of town,
and the crows and seagulls cry in every part of town!
Though the air is clear,
I’m imprisoned here;
I’m locked down on the street where i live.
I hear that people are fleeing
overseas by plane, car or boat.
So disempowering seeing
it’s allowed by prats for whom I did not vote …
Politicians’ faces all bother me.
I can’t tell you all the places I would rather be!
As the time goes by,
I’ll most likely die,
just stuck here on the street where I live.
